Magic During Wartime
by Orrunan
Summary: First of Magic verse. Department of Mysteries should be more careful about handing over artifacts with timeline-breaking capabilities. It's a new world, a new war, Harry and Luna are its entire magical population and now people are getting interested.
1. Chapter 1

**Breaking your reality and substituting it with my own**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

My beta is MakalaMea. Thank you for your help!

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Time is, overall, a remarkably resilient thing. Unlike Ray Bradbury would have you thinking, stepping on a butterfly in Jurassic era would not cause a fascist candidate named Deutscher win the presidential election instead of a nicer guy called Keith. Even seeing your past self – or future self, depending from your point of view and who does the viewing – can be smoothed over and assimilated into the timeline under right circumstances. A timeline is every time at once, everything that has already happened at some point, so to break it would take serious levels of meddling.

Still, it wasn't quite as hard to break as the Department of Mysteries knew thought, or they would hopefully have been more careful with their magical artifacts. After all, when someone does manage to cause a time paradox, no one can tell it happened, because as far as they know, things have always been the way they are now.

That having been said, giving a time turner to a third year student, however responsible and forewarned, was a bad idea. Giving it to an adult would have been a bad idea nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand.

Hermione Granger had, for a second, when she was first handed the very lovely, steampunk-stylish timetravel necklace, entertained the thought of going back to the time when Voldemort was still alive and, well, doing something. Anyone would have. But partly because she had no idea who Voldemort had been before becoming Lord Voldemort and partly because of the stern warnings she had been given about causing temporal paradoxes and what the consequences might be, it had only been for a second. She had entertained the thought a second time when she realized that her best friend's parents' best friend had betrayed them, causing Harry to have to live as an orphan with the magic-hating Dursleys. But again she stayed her hand, mostly because of the consequences and partly because, well, what was she going to do? Kill Black? She didn't think she could kill, even for Harry.

Besides, the adults hadn't used it for those purposes and there was no way no one had thought about it. They knew better so she shouldn't try it either.

So she attended all her classes and seriously stressed herself out. There were also the emotionally very draining arguments with Harry over his new broom being confiscated and Ron over her cat having apparently eaten his rat to consider. Not to mention the impending death of poor Buckbeak because of Draco's power play and fragile pureblood ego. Then, over the course of one hectic night, Ron was abducted by an enormous black hound that turned out to be Sirius Black in animagus form, her favourite professor Lupin turned out to be in cahoots with him, and Ron's rat hadn't been eaten after all, but turned out to be Peter Pettigrew instead. Then professor Snape intervened and in the end Pettigrew escaped, almost causing Sirius to receive a Dementor's kiss after a terrible, mind-searing attack of at least a hundred Dementors. It was all insane.

Hermione, when she tried to fall asleep in the infirmary that night, still high from adrenalin, wasn't in the most stable, reasonable state of mind.

And she missed her alarm clock from home. It had light blue, glowing numbers and the glow always calmed her down when she had difficulties sleeping. She had brought it with her the first year, but the aura of magic that permeated the school had killed the batteries instantly.

She stared the ceiling, her eyes falling shut again and again, but sleep eluded her. She had way too much time to think, and when she dreamed she dreamed of nightmares. First she was watching a trial of an unknown man. It was a muggle trial and the judge had a funny-looking white wig: She wasn't sure those were even used anymore; she had never seen a trial and it looked kind of old-fashioned. While she was puzzling over that, the accused man turned his head and she realized he was Sirius Black. The prosecutor was accusing him of a long string of ridiculous little things, like doing graffiti and flying on a broom without brakes and lights, but with the sickening surety you can have only in dreams she knew that the last offence on the list would be the betrayal of Harry's parents and the mass murder of muggles he hadn't committed. She tried to scream that he was innocent, that he had been framed, but then it was she who was sitting there with the entire court room eyeing her with contempt.

"Ms Granger, your crimes have been truly atrocious," the judge said and pushed his glasses up his short, thick nose. "I am sentencing you to life time in Azkaban."

She tried to protest, but hard hands grabbed her and dragged her to the Dementors and the chilling feeling of all joy and hope vanishing from the world washed over her, the knowledge that she would be better off dead...

She woke up shivering and panting, her face wet with tears, her pajamas drenched in cold sweat. She couldn't understand how Sirius could have endured all those years and survived. Cold, dim veil blurred the dark infirmary in her eyes and she realized it was tears. A sob escaped her and she was afraid she was going to cry and wail her eyes out and wake up Harry and Ron. It was wrong! He hadn't done it! Blindly her fingers found the time turner from the table beside her bed.

She clutched it against her chest and she hesitated. One bed away from her, Ron slept peacefully, red hair sticking every which way, and one bed away from him was Harry. It was hard to say for sure in the dark room, but Hermione thought she saw a frown on his face. Maybe he was having bad dreams too. She thought about waking him, but he had to be so tired and she wasn't sure. He would want to help save Sirius, but her necklace was only good for one user. Besides, if she succeeded this would never happen at all; retroactive nightmare control. Her mouth tight, grim line, she set the time turner and activated it.

Had she just given a second try to keeping Pettigrew from escaping, it wouldn't have been so bad. It was a very recent development, so not much had occurred at all and nothing or no one had been changed irrevocably. But Hermione wanted more than that. She wanted to save Sirius from the prison and Harry's parents' lives and Harry from the Dursleys. She just wanted everybody to be happy.

Air fractured where Hermione had been. Time fractured in her footsteps.

Magic often isn't fair at all. It follows its own rules the same way science does and it doesn't care if it screws someone along the way any more than gravity does.

He had been terrified, elated, terrified, furious and relieved in the space of few hours, all this in addition to the physical side of things, and so when everything was over Harry fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. He was sure an earthquake couldn't wake him until he had slept at least nine hours. Despite this when a strange, almost painless jolt struck through Harry like a lightning bolt and when he heard terrible roar in his ears, he woke up instantly. He woke up to nothing at all.

He hadn't slept nine hours, he was pretty sure of that even before he opened his eyes, but he wasn't tired and it wasn't night anymore. He had come to know the ceiling of the infirmary very well, all the thin lines and darker spots above every bed, and that ceiling wasn't above him now. At first, he thought he was in a different room, but it was funny how the ceiling seemed to be so close that he could touch it. Then he realized it was no ceiling, because if it was it curved around him, and under him, he had to be touching it, right? Even though he couldn't really feel it. He wasn't warm, but he wasn't cold either. He was half sitting, pushing himself up, on nothing at all. Everything was flat, somehow, everywhere around him like he had been transferred into a two-dimensional picture. It was a whitish-grayish world with no different hues or shadings, no textures, no nothing. His mouth tasted like bile. Harry turned around, but there were no other people. Only him, all alone.

"Um. Is anyone here? Anyone!" he called. There was no answer.

Harry waited then. It probably wasn't very long time, but it was hard to say for sure. He felt like time was stretching like chewing gum and at the same time he could almost hear the clock ticking away. At first he wasn't too worried, just stood up on the thankfully solid, weight-bearing nothing, but nothing just kept happening. Harry had a bad feeling about it all.

"Ron! Hermione!" he shouted. His voice didn't echo, didn't carry; it was almost like it was dampened by a thick, woolen blanket. "Dumbledore!" Nothing. He tried Sirius and professor Lupin. In a fit of true desperation he called for Snape, halfway sure that the man would appear so he could rub Harry's face in the fact that he had called the man for help, but even that hope was in vain.

Harry stumbled forward, shaking. He wasn't sure what he was standing on, why he wasn't sinking through the nothingness, or maybe he was sinking, but couldn't feel it… He ran. He thought he ran, but there wasn't any feeling of motion, no air brushing against him, no different ground under his feet, nothing he could run towards or away from, and in the end he wasn't sure he was moving anywhere at all.

How was he supposed to feel about being dead? He didn't want to be dead; he was too young to die. He hadn't even had a girlfriend yet and Voldemort was still lurking in the shadows. He had wanted to catch Pettigrew and go live with Sirius. He hadn't done anything with his life yet, hadn't traveled anywhere or picked a career, let alone gotten one. But this wasn't so horrible.

Yet. A small, nasty voice whispered into his ear that a year or so alone in nothing and he would be asking for mercy killing.

But he was already dead. Er, right?

"Am I dead?" he asked with a horrified whisper. Was this death? This vast nothingness he was alone in? Had Pettigrew returned and finished his job?

NO you aRE nOt deAd TImE breAkinG to -Nn:nNN:nn- to h-hElp

And Harry KNEW.

He saw sobbing, terrified, shocked Hermione in the past, saw her fighting to become the master of her reeling feelings again, saw her succeeding and resuming her task with grim determination and he saw how it played out.

She convinced Sirius she was from the future. Harry's parents didn't die because they weren't found, but because Voldemort didn't try to murder little Harry he wasn't defeated either. When Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, with a prophesy he didn't know of, hadn't known of, hanging over his head unfulfilled, the European and African wizarding world was one big war zone and it was slowly spreading to Asia and the Americas also. And this was true. But because Sirius Black hadn't been unfairly sentenced to Azkaban, hadn't driven Hermione into the past to change it, this hadn't happened at all. But Peter Pettigrew had become the secret keeper and betrayed his parents and the wizarding world had lived in peace. Sirius had been sentenced to Azkaban and when Hermione found out she had changed the past and his parents didn't die…

It had been too big a jump in time to fix itself, too much had happened in between. It looped, looped, looped forever and ever and ever in front of Harry's terrified eyes. And if he had been afraid to find out he was dead and death was a hell of nothingness, now he knew what true fear was. What was he supposed to do? That was no life. It was twisted existence without purpose or end.

He saw bits and pieces, but more were just shoved into his brains like old shoes to the bottom of a cupboard, or little Harry. Bad memories there.

liNChpIn r-rEmovE

And then, there was the prophesy.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_

This was the prophecy Dumbledore had alluded to earlier, but kept the whole truth from him. But it hadn't even needed to be him, necessarily. One other had been born who checked all the boxes: Neville Longbottom. Harry knew with chilling sense of foreboding that while he was important, he wasn't irreplaceable.

He was the linchpin; Hermione's only link to Sirius Black, Sirius' sole link to the legacy that was the Boy Who Lived, the reason Voldemort had killed and Pettigrew had betrayed his family. A huge chunk of time had to be removed to make the time flow again and removing Harry was the easiest way to do it. Like he had seen in the loop, he saw his mother and father, and if seeing them like that was the only time he would ever see them wasn't traumatizing enough, he knew he also saw himself NOT being begotten. He could see inside in fleshy colours, like a picture in a biology book except a lot grosser, and the small, tiny spot that was an egg… a hole called the stigma hadn't formed in the follicle, and the ovum hadn't left it. The explanation was shoved into his mind. Eugh.

"I was booted out of time?" he whispered. Things like that just didn't happen. And for a heartbeat, as searing, as acidic and hot and out of control as a forest fire was his hate for Hermione. Then grief and finally, finally tears washed over it. But before he could develop full-blown hysterics, something bright and jewel-coloured flew past him. He blinked the blurry tears away and desperately followed it with his eyes, but before he had enough time to run after it he was surrounded by whole flock of them.

"Pyreflies?" he whispered, disbelieving. He remembered one summer when Dudley had gotten, again, a huge pile of brightly wrapped presents. He had torn the papers off, played with everything once and then promptly forgotten about it. Harry would have, well, maybe not killed, but at least seriously maimed for a single one of them.

One of those gifts had been a Playstation game - Final Fantasy X – and it had been his favourite. Harry hadn't been allowed to play with it of course, but he had watched when Dudley had played, again and again with tenacity very uncharacteristic to the plump boy, until he had gotten to the end and defeated Sin. Harry's heart had raced when the Besaid Aurochs had won their first match in ten years, he had hated Seymour with intensity that had worried him a bit and felt for Yuna and Tidus so much he had almost cried. Before receiving his Hogwarts letter, this virtual reality had been the saving grace of the past year. Pyreflies had been prevalent throughout the world of Spira and if Harry had understood it right, they were some sort of lifeforce and spiritual energy, and at times ghosts or spirits of the dead as well.

"Don't tell me they got that right," he whispered. Was he now some kind of Unsent? Was that the reason he was in this place? His body felt strangely heavy and drained.

The pyreflies were flying balls seemingly made of bright energy, in all the hues of the rainbow and several that couldn't be found there, dazzling around him. He looked at one that hovered by his head a little while and it was like space and his perception bent, dragging him in. Sky turned into a whirlpool through which he fell down, some great, strange music filling his head, like the steady beating of a drum. There was up and down again! Harry had never known what a blessed thing having up and down was before the difference had disappeared. It was a world full of ground and sky and other people. He was there and Hogwarts, and he had barely realized that when he fell through the roof like a ghost and the it was above him, enchanted to look like an indigo night sky with thousands of silver stars. Within that green and silver ball he saw a world where… Dumbledore was secretly a dark wizard and he was a lovechild his mother had had with Snape.

Shocked and disgusted, Harry snapped out of it. Before he could truly even comprehend what he had just seen another flew past him, quick, but still catching his eyes. It was burnt okra and deep red, and for a fleeting second he saw himself as adopted son of a… Somalian warlord?

"What the hell?" he asked and that world disappeared also. He… didn't feel better, exactly, but he was distracted.

The glittering jewelry worlds just kept getting stranger and stranger, full of goblins and strange powers and most surprisingly meeting and getting adopted by Dracula, with alarming regularity too. And that Snape-thing happened way too often for his peace of mind. And Sirius was his godfather, why couldn't he seem to get Harry without resorting to kidnapping – though those had ended surprisingly well. As the miniature worlds became more and more removed from his own he saw a steel shine grey and a bright red one. It first caught his eye because its flight pattern was different from the others': less flighty, more precise and measured. And inside it were giant, flying robots fighting each other. Now well and truly baffled, but not disgusted or horrified this time, he reached towards it. Barely his fingertips touched it when everything bent again, this time even his insides.

In a timeline that was whole again, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger met a boy named Neville Longbottom and his white owl, Polaris, on the train to Hogwarts. Two years later infamous Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from Azkaban, sending the Wizarding Britain into panic. She was guilty of everything she had ever been accused of and several other crimes to boot. She attempted to kill Neville and received the Dementor's kiss for he efforts.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Ron said and tried to be comforting in a manly way. Even Hermione, who thought that collaborating with beings like Dementors was insanity and morally very questionable – sucking out people's souls, anyone thinking that is right? – nodded hesitantly. Neville remembered his dead mother and his father who had been tortured to insanity and felt a little vindicated, but also very hurt. An old wound had been opened and scourged clean.

James and Lily Potter had a daughter named Helen who was one year younger than the Golden Trio and the best friend of Ginny Weasley. Sirius Black was her godfather. They also had a red-haired son named Harry, three years younger than his sister, and his godfather was Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew's true colours had been discovered shortly after the death of Alice Longbottom when Lucius 'I was under Imperio' Malfoy had named him. This was the way it had always been now. No one missed the Boy Who Never Existed.

No one except for one girl.

Magic didn't exist. Thus, Lily Evans hadn't been a witch and since that hadn't escalated their silly sibling rivalry into something more painful and serious she had remained close to her sister Petunia. When she and her husband James Potter had died in a car crash, little Harry had been only one year old. Petunia and Vernon had adopted him and Harry Dursley had grown loved and pampered much like his brother Dudley.

He hadn't known any hardship in his life unless, not getting the newest Mobile Wars game for his birthday counted as hardship. His parents had no interest in politics beyond the embargo that kept Grunnings from importing important – and very expensive – Zero G construction equipment to the colonies. His father always grumbled about how the authorities intervened with an honest man trying to earn his living, his mother agreed and he didn't pay much attention. He had gone to Smeltings, his father's alma mater, and liked it well enough despite the mortally embarrassing school uniform. Really, what kind of sick and twisted man would invent a uniform consisting of a maroon tailcoat, orange knickerbockers, a boater and a knobbly stick? Harry wasn't quite as bad as Dudley; he wasn't a bully for one thing, and he wasn't the type to throw a tantrum like he was a five-year-old because his Knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top. Still, he wasn't the type to become a hero either. He was much too ordinary and spoiled and, well, shallow. A very typical privileged teenager.

Not so much anymore. In the dorm room he shared with his brother, Harry Potter woke up. His head was spinning when two different sets of lifetimes of memories tried to make themselves at home and not get mixed up, with questionable results. No magic, no good. Sirius raised bulldogs, right? No, that was horrible Aunt Marge! Sirius was alive… and back at wherever he was that his time was in from here. Ambiguous. War with the colonies, even worse. Dumbledore had lied to him, oh hell, or at least kept something secret that he shouldn't have. Dursleys were nice to him, that was good, but... and his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He was a Dursley!

"Oh shit." He was a Dursley.

Timelines aren't sentient entities, exactly, though the human mind may comprehend them as such under certain circumstances. But had Harry Potter's first timeline been sentient, it would have been unbearably smug and exhibited a conspicuous sense of self-satisfaction. Your problem now, it might have crowed to the new timeline.

Harry Potter had been best friends with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He had been closer to both of them separately than Harry Dursley was to all his friends put together, but did they even exist in this new world? And even if they did it, would never be the same. Numb with the shock he stared up, without seeing the ceiling. All fear and anger, grief and determination and wonder had fled, leaving him empty and exhausted. I wish, he thought dimly before the haze of unconscious swallowed him, that I could have something just for me. And everything went black.

Magic hadn't existed in this world, but now there was one bright magic core, for once unhampered by the shadow of a dark soul that had clung to it like a leech for twelve years. Magic cores weren't sentient either, but if they had been, this one would have been eager to show off. Harry didn't have wand anymore, but that was only a focus to ease the casting. Some magical children exhibited mild degrees of control over their accidental magic, rather than half accidentally helped animals escape from zoo, and were able to use it with intent, even if not to cast specific spells, and Harry Potter was one very powerful teenager.

A lot is needed to breach the walls between dimensions, but the walls between these two had recently been weakened and still remembered the touch of this magic. Harry wanted something special. His magic delivered.

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AN: Just for claritys sake, this isn't exactly time travel. Harry ended up in a different dimension that just happens to be a few centuries more advanced than his original one.

Also, I don't bash anyone. I don't hate Hermione, I just think that giving a teenager something that can cause time paradoxes really wasn't all that bright. She didn't mean to do it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter I: Existential Crisis**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

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Harry Potter's life revolved around the not-asked-for legacy of the Boy Who Lived and much of the wizarding world seemed inclined to follow suit. He wasn't the bright centre the world revolved around, however, even less in another dimension. Things went on the way they had the day before he had appeared.

That didn't mean he wouldn't get involved in those things. He was gifted like that, or cursed.

Quatre Winner was sitting on the backseat of the car he had rented, re-reading what information he had on one Calla Lovegood and her family. She was a genius who was developing a new refining process for gundanium, currently in the employment of Oz, but very reluctantly; her son and his family had been threatened to ensure her compliance. Mission objective number one was her data. Objective number two was to rescue the professor herself, for which they would have to attain objective number three: the rescue of her family. Xenophilius, Quilla and Luna Lovegood; the family seemed to have flair for strange names.

There was a picture of Mrs. Lovegood taken at a family gathering, smiling old woman with graying dirty blonde hair and protuberant grey eyes. Beside her stood slightly cross-eyed man wearing shirt of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow, a small, light-haired woman and a five-year-old girl that resembled her grandmother quite a bit. Quatre studied their faces until he knew he could pick them out of a crowd, and then turned his attention to the blue prints of the installation the woman's family was held in. There were a number of possible entries, but fewer exits. Especially if he was to take a family of three with him, and even then the fact they were in London in the first place was an incredible stroke of luck. Oz had been in the process of transferring them from the Shetland base to Lake Victoria. Originally the Heathrow airport had only meant to be an intermediate landing when young Luna Lovegood had suddenly collapsed without explanation, forcing the escorting party to stop at the nearest base with a hospital.

Since the Isles of Britain were Quatre's area of operation at the moment, Instructor H had assigned the mission to him just as Duo Maxwell, in South Africa Federation, was sent to free Professor Lovegood and retrieve her research.

"Are we going to establish a local base of operations, Mr. Winner?" Rashid asked from the driver's seat. Quatre shook his head.

"We don't necessarily have the luxury of time. We have no way of knowing how serious Luna Lovegood's condition is. She might be fit to travel today. On the other hand, she might be too sick to transport for quite some time." In which case there would be trouble. It wasn't like Duo could wait forever after all; they might have to make do with the data. Quatre cursed the lack of conclusive intel, but the situation couldn't be helped.

"In any case, have Ahmed enroll me into a local school of good reputation under one of my secondary aliases, not the one I'm using now. We may have to spend some time here and a family is the most inconspicuous cover, all things considered."

Going undercover as a high-school student might have seemed like a hilarious idea at beginning of Operation Meteor, but Quatre had to admit that in practice it had its advantages. He had to integrate into the society, that was the sticks and stones kind of basics of infiltration. He was too young – and much too young-looking to pretend otherwise – to go to work in the better parts of Earth so school was the only viable option. If the school was a boarding school it offered not only cover, but also rooming and meals, simplifying his life considerably. As long as no one caught him in the act of sneaking out after the curfew and back when he was done, he was "accounted for" the whole night, and a little donation to the school made sure he didn't have to share his room with anyone. And most importantly, no one searched for Gundam pilots in boarding schools. A high school student as one of Earth's most wanted was simply beyond unbelievable.

A small pop-up message blinked on the screen of his laptop and Quatre clicked it open, entering Myriad Variances, a science holochatroom. It was an online meeting place for scientists from all over the Earth Sphere to converse together about topics ranging from keeping up-to-date on cutting-edge research and what was new in a wide range of areas from robotics, space ventures and general science, to downright silly topics like how Santa Claus could have used advanced knowledge of electromagnetic waves, the space/time continuum, nanotechnology, genetic engineering and computer science to deliver presents to every child in the world during one night.

Oz was keeping an eye on it, in case the topics turned out to involve their secret research or had the potential to become secret research, but generally it was considered a harmless medium.

Username Calabi-Yau, a woman of thirty-seven years old according to her user profile, had entered the conversation and started a new topic: new tissue engineering technology as means to treat leukemia by replacing blood marrow. The topic was perfectly safe and harmless; what the people and programs monitoring all communications via Oz satellites shouldn't be able to notice with the technology they had was that the size of the data packets sent and the size they should have been didn't quite match.

The mobile suits had quickly become the symbols of the war, Gundams and otherwise, but even more important warfare was waged that had more impact on most people's lives than Gundams ever did: war on communications. Oz had Internet satellites and telecommunication satellites, the colonies had stationary communications stations and their own secret milicoms. Oz sabotaged the colony communications stations and destroyed every rogue colony satellite they could find, colonies hacked into Oz satellites, rebuilt their own and built new ones. Messages were intercepted, scrambled and imitated. In the middle of this havoc where whole countries dropped off the communications network at the drop of a hat, the clever had learned to inconspicuously use their enemies' resources when their own were down.

What Quatre had gotten now was an update on Luna Lovegood. The hospital files had finally been cracked, but what was revealed was simply baffling. She had woken up and seemed to be perfectly healthy. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with her, but the readings the base's medical equipment got of her were off the charts, stating that she should be dying of radiation poisoning she'd had no way of getting and have lost the fine motor functions of her hands due to aberrations in her brain despite the fact she, well, hadn't. Changing the equipment hadn't helped and they weren't malfunctioning with anyone else so there was a lot of doctor-speech for "we have no idea what's wrong with her".

The avatar of the fictional woman, black-haired and wiry with blue-tinted lenses, stood delicately in front of the screen of his laptop and continued her pre-recorded lecture. It was a good picture, built pixel by pixel until it might as well have been the real thing. Quatre clicked the window closed.

"Of course it couldn't be simple." He shook his head. At least the doctor in charge of Luna Lovegood had decided to keep her under surveillance here and not separate her from her family. Thank Allah for small mercies.

"What will our family relations be?" Rashid asked now when he had finished inspecting the files. It was always a consideration. Quatre at least had an ample number of adults who could pretend to be his guardians, unlike the rest of the pilots, but none of them looked much like him.

Quatre was a Muslim, but not an Arabian. His family was of Circassian descent, originating from the state of Karachay-Cherkess of the Euro-Russian Federation, and as a result he was very blond and fair-skinned. Maguanacs were what people thought when they thought of Arabian; dark-haired and skinned and their facial features subtly different from Quatre's type. Quatre had never thought that kind of minute detail might pose a problem – skin colour as basis for regard was so ancient a notion it wasn't even funny – but since dark colour was a dominant trait people raised an eyebrow if he claimed to be the son of one of his men. It wasn't impossible, per se, just curious. But he didn't want to be curious.

"You have adopted me. Make Ahmed and one another your brothers; just in case." The last thing he needed was for well-meaning social workers to try and track down his alias' non-existent relatives if something happened to Rashid.

The car pulled into the parking lot of the hotel they would be staying at. It was a huge, glittering structure that seemed to be made entirely of windows and crowned with several glass spires. Quatre placed his hand on his forehead to cover his eyes as the sun broke into millions of brilliant, multicoloured, bright hues. The whole glory was topped off with two artificial waterfalls that fell from the tops of the two highest spires into the pond that looked more like a small lake than a pond. Quatre sighed a little. He was well aware that what he considered modest was very different from the other pilot' definition, even Chang Wufei's, but this place was a bit much even for him. A whole lot much even. But just as being a high school student was ridiculous-seeming, yet surprisingly efficient cover being ostentatiously rich was another; everybody knew rebels on Earth were poor people, hiding in jungles and Russian wastelands with bandanna tied around their heads. People well off didn't rock the boat. People rich enough to afford place like this had to be co-operating with Oz. People rich enough to afford place like this could make lowly police officers and soldiers' life very, very difficult. Nobody asked uncomfortable questions from rich people. Money was privilege and Instructor H had chosen well; unlike his fellow pilots, Quatre could afford to buy safety.

He held his head high and adopted an ugly sneer as he marched towards the doors. He wondered if his comrades were ever struck by the urge to kick themselves.

* * *

First there was shower and breakfast. The soap smelled better than the black one the advanced potions students cooked at Hogwarts, but it didn't give Harry the same feeling of cleanliness. The breakfast was a full English breakfast, complete with piles of streaky bacon, white and golden eggs, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms, fried bread, black pudding and fried leftover mashed potatoes, served with black tea. Harry stared at the helping he had been given, his eyes wide. The he gave his own figure a discreet look and decided there was no way he had been eating like this, though Dudley certainly had. The smell of drippings, tomatoes, drippings, fresh, fried bread and drippings overwhelmed Harry's stomach; it couldn't seem to decide whether to heave or wolf it all down like he had never seen food before. The way Dudley practically inhaled his decided it for Harry and he ended putting most of it away to the biobin.

The students were provided seven newspapers to the cafeteria and Harry had managed to grab the last of them. New London News, it read with proud, black letters and Harry went through a brief moment of wrongwrongwrong when he first looked at it. The pictures weren't moving! He didn't know why it was such a big thing; he was just as familiar with muggle newspapers as the wizarding one, that was, not a whole lot. Dursleys hadn't let him read them to minimize unsavory influences and he didn't subscribe to Daily Prophet.

There was something about destruction of a rebel satellite over Europe and an attack by the 01 Gundam against an aircraft carrier in Japan, but Harry pushed the newspaper reluctantly away and the sense of wrongness abated. He would read it later.

It was proof of his remarkable resiliency, not to mention a testimony of years of strange and improbable, that Harry was even capable of functioning the next day after his interdimensional jump. He was very quiet during the classes, trying to keep his memories straight, but with little success. He feared he would be asked something despite not raising his hand because he knew he would mix things up. Mathematics wouldn't be so bad, that was the same in both dimensions, but he was deadly afraid that if Mrs. Robbins asked him anything during the biology he would blurt out something mortally embarrassing about magical plants or animals. And God help him, if Mr. Bing asked him anything about the last war he just knew he would forget himself and talk about Grindewald and the Nazis and probably call him Professor Binns to boot.

He kept forgetting either one life's things or the other's and that wasn't even the worst of it. He kept looking for Ron to talk to, looking for Hermione for help and guidance, but neither was there. Every time he saw red or curly brown hair his heart leaped. It made him want to throw up.

Hermione had done this to him. She hadn't meant to, but she had banished him to another world without a goodbye. And the worst part was that it wasn't all absolutely, horribly bad. The flashes of these-memories, of mum Petunia comforting him when he had fallen and grazed his knee, of dad Vernon being so proud of him when he got to Smeltings, they made him feel this tiny, little tingle of happiness. He was already betraying his own world and with Dursleys despite the way they had always treated him. Except they hadn't, not here.

Harry Potter lived Harry Dursley's life and he wasn't a happy camper.

But no torture lasts forever, not even a lesson on the 50 BC war, also known as Sweet Water War. Harry hurriedly escaped from the cafeteria when he saw they were serving steak and kidney pudding, the sight of the white and yellowish, shaking mass making him shudder. He stopped on his way out to pick a small, green form which would make him a vegetarian for the rest of the school year, because cauliflower cheese and fried eggplants might not be his favourite food, but compared to what he had just remembered of Smeltings' menu, well. Steak and kidney pie, devilled kidneys, kidney roast with onions, every traditional English food with kidney in it was regularly served there. He absolutely hated kidney. What business did people who weren't about to die of starvation have eating something that was part of the urinary system?

The brief sense of wrong came back and for a second, Harry's taste buds didn't know whether to water or shrivel. He didn't think about it. He didn't think about how it was very good that he played lacrosse because otherwise he would have bloated like one of mum's cakes in the oven, he didn't think how he wouldn't play Quidditch ever again. He didn't.

At least they had chutney and gypsy tart. He liked coconut chutney and… his other liked gypsy tart. Everybody won with those.

Merlin, he was beginning to confuse himself. He walked back to his room, over the sunny, but windy yard. One more month and the grass would be green again, but now it looked kind of sad and very sloppy. He dropped his books in and took the last ones, wondering just how he was supposed to keep it up without going completely nutty.

He stopped in the middle of the yard and took in the school buildings. It was the bastard child of romantic Gothic architecture and some hypermodern style that seemed to be made of simple, but massive shapes and play with textures. Smeltings main building was a combination of capacious one-floor wings around the three-floor middle and towering chimney-like things that probably had to do with security or something other that took a lot of space since there were no fireplaces and they had to be filled with something. There were vaulted domes, Roman windows and sharply defined lines with flat roofs, stone and metal and glittering glass blending with surprising harmony. He wondered briefly if the Smeltings of his world had been an actual Gothic manor and shook his head. He was going to find a way back, he was, but Smeltings should be the last place he worried about; he had never even seen it!

Harry stood straighter, lifted his chin and took a deep breath full of air cleaner than London air should have been. Two more hours and he could go find some corner to hide and put his thought into some kind of order. He had survived Voldemort twice, this would be a piece of cake. He slipped into the stream of students wandering towards their classrooms, clearing his mind the best he could.

"Did you see the last episode of Dea Invicta? The Azrael Gundam can now use its nanomachines to animate corpses, turning them into zombies pilots for Death Army!" somebody gushed, rushing past him. A female somebody snorted, falling into step with him, black braids bouncing against her back.

"I think that show is very bad taste. Not that I'm against portrayal of war in general, but evil, undead zombie army? Talk about propaganda." It was Ibie Popez, one of his classmates. She was whirling her mauve parasol, the girls' variation of the knobbly stick, in a way that would have made any parade leader green with envy, and making the students walking to the opposite direction a bit pale as they ducked and covered hastily every time she turned around a corner.

"I'm not sure it counts as propaganda if there's so much crack no one can say what side it's supposed to promote," Harry countered, remembering bits and pieces of it, though whether that was because his memory was spotty or he just didn't watch the series regularly he wasn't sure. Or, since some of what he remembered included a wicca tank commader with a uniform top that was just that – a tanktop – maybe it was the trauma.

"Probably Oz since it hasn't been killed yet," Ibie muttered. She wasn't very vocal about it, but she had an uncle and three cousins who lived in L3.

"You have no heart," yet somebody new – Lai, Harry was sure, though he didn't know her surname – chastised him and Ibie. She looked a bit like the Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang and the image of his skilled adversary in that maroon coat and very fluffy white skirt almost made him smile. "Wasn't it great when Akira called Dima his better half?" she went on, but turned to the stairs before Harry had to confess he had no clue who Dima was.

"I have always wondered about that phrase," he confessed to Ibie as they arrived to the classroom. She raised an eyebrow. Harry had always wanted to learn how to raise only one. When he tried it he ended up wiggling both, which looked plain silly.

"If something's divided in half, one-half must be equal to one-half. Reflexity doesn't just bend like that so one half can't be better than the other," he said, distracted by the pencil in his hand. Quills had seemed so old-fashioned when he first entered the wizarding world, but he had gotten used to them and taken pride in his very good, even elegant handwriting. Pencils just weren't good for that. It felt wrong in his hand, too heavy and without the soft edge to run his fingers against.

"You are cute when you're nerdy. Equally minded too," Ibie said and smiled, touching his hand briefly. Harry looked up from his pencil and for the first time he realized she was flirting with him. She had been flirting with him the past month if he wasn't mistaken and if not for his experience with the girls at Hogwarts making doe eyes at him, he might not have noticed at all, though Ibie wasn't that bad. Must be true what they say about girls blooming earlier than boys, he thought. He was well over the phase where girls had cooties, but he hadn't yet gotten what was so great about swapping saliva with them.

"I'm not nerdy, I'm just interested," he defended himself automatically.

"That's what they all say," Ibie quipped back. They made small talk for another two minutes or so until Ms. Tesla arrived and the class begun.

The building was old and well conserved, but the equipment were state of art, as befitting "the most prestigious high school" of England. Prestige was a trend that came and went, but Smelting had hold onto its place at the top for quite a long time. The physics and chemistry classrooms were fully equipped labs in shades of chrome and white, and no way would the teacher write anything by hand when the voice system did it for her, adding appropriate pictures and videos from the library to make the lecture more stimulating.

It wasn't until Ms. Tesla had begun to dictate an equation or another to the screen when Harry realized that he was a nerd. He knew about reflexity and superposition principle and stuff. And he had bantered with Ibie like nothing because that's what he always did. With Ms. Tesla's lilting accent it begun to return to him. When he had been a child his parents had given him a chemistry kit and he had learned to build a small fire extinguisher and make water flow up in his experiments with air pressure and produce electricity in a test tube. Mathematics might be the same in both worlds, but only now Harry realized that here he was actually good at mathematics. His little kit of wonders and Mr. Adams from elementary school with his long, thin neck and Ms. Tesla danced through his memories. He was bad at English, but good with numbers. He had helped Ibie when she had been about to flunk chemistry, that's how they had became friends. He was a nerd and he had a good time being a nerd. He was Harry Potter, yes, but he had just slipped into Harry Dursley's head and not noticed a thing. He didn't know who or what he was anymore.

"Mr. Potter?" Ms. Tesla's voice halted him from his flunk and Harry realized she had been calling his name for some time already. He felt his cheeks reddening.

"I'm sorry, Professor Tesla, I'm having an existential crisis," he blurted out and winced. Of all embarrassing things he might have said. There was silent laughter. It was. It wasn't. It was amused, but it was like they thought he had made a good joke. There weren't any Slytherins of course, so no one had a reason to mock him. The classroom was blurry around the edges and the laughter seemed to come from far away when Harry's mind tried to desperately rearrange itself. He sucked at potions and could sport enough burns to prove it, enough calluses from grubbing cauldrons clean at detention in a dim classroom that was _a dungeon, _not this airy, sunny place_. _He was very good at chemistry, his fingers could remember the feeling of holding a test tube over the burner with test tube clamps, it had been red, his hands not shaking a bit as he measured magnesium and carefully dropped in into water a long, long time ago. His hands had been a lot smaller then too. The flash had been pretty. It was just plain icky when something in his cauldron exploded.

Ibie said something, her voice worried, but when Harry turned his head she overlapped with Hermione and that didn't make him happy at all. Professor, no, not professor, but Ms. Tesla was saying something again, but two lessons of two kind of similar – except not – subjects were competing of the same timeslot in his head, making him remember Ms. Tesla ordering him to make Confusing Concoction and giving him A+, but he was pretty sure that couldn't be right. The classroom turned blurry around the edges and Harry closed his eyes, hoping to make the dizzy feeling go away. Harry Potter and Harry Dursley were having a knock-out fight in his head and he imagined them, in Hogwarts' robes and Smeltings' uniform, punching each other with red boxing gloves. He snorted and then everything went calm again.

He had lasted breakfast, biology, mathematics, history and dinner. Considering the time he had lived had, from his subjective point of view, doubled in one night and the (equal) halves violently contradicting each other, it wasn't bad.

* * *

Luna Lovegood was thinking of Harry Potter as she snuck into the lift that took the dirty laundry to the garage where the car of the laundry would pick it up. She had always known of his existence even though he probably had no idea who she was. Not that it was a wonder; if there was someone in the wizarding world who didn't know who Harry Potter was, they had to have been living the last thirteen years in a monastery in Mongolia with post owl repelling privacy wards.

The reason she was in this situation was partly due to him. Luna was a true Seer, one of those with their inner eye wide open. Where her father had little talent and her mother had had some more Luna was true genius. Sadly those who Saw never were quite in step with the rest of the world. Luna had once overheard one professor saying that the Seers had their Sight where most people kept their common sense. She had been talking about Professor Trelawney of course, not Luna, and while it might be a bit mean she had a feeling there might be some truth to it. Luna was used to the feeling that when she waltzed solemnly the rest of the world was dancing a merry jig and when she on rare occasion felt lively enough to try charleston everyone else was dancing a slow rumba.

She had seen what Hermione Granger had done and hadn't forgotten when the rest of the world adapted to the disappearance of its most famous wizard ever without a hitch. That didn't surprise her in the slightest.

She had decided to follow Harry Potter. Unlike one who didn't know her might have thought, it wasn't because she had a crush on him, or was a fangirl. In fact Harry himself only played a small part in that decision. The dazzling, glittering rainfall of multicoloured balls of light had entranced her and she had chosen to see those a while longer, had chosen to look inside as Potter had looked. Most of them had amused her, especially the one where an accident on some ancient stones at midsummer had turned Potter into a dragon, but the one Potter had chosen had caught her interest, heart and soul and refused to let go. Within that world she saw her father and her mother and her grandmother, all kind of content and definitely healthy if not happy and most of them together and all alive, with their own lucky Luna.

Quilla Lovegood had died when her experimental spell had backfired when Luna had been but nine years old, giving her thestrals and heartache that never quite healed, and her father hadn't been quite himself after either. Her grandmum had suffocated to death when she had swallowed a fishbone in her fish soup, alone in her home. Her granddad had died before she had even been born and hadn't been there to save grandmum Calla. But in that glittering orb her family was still whole. She just had to get to them somehow and maybe she would even have a first-ever friend in Harry Potter.

She was but Loony Lovegood, too odd for anyone to call a friend and mean it. She didn't think Harry Potter was the type to shun anyone because of that, but certainly he wouldn't have gone out of his way to befriend her either; he had too many friends to be that interested. But now that had changed. Now she could have her family and maybe him for a friend, she just had to get herself into the time paradox Granger had created.

She had chosen the obvious method; pick pocketed the time turner and went to the past, warned Granger and restarted the time loop. Off went Loony Lovegood.

It hadn't been quite that simple though. First thing, some nargles followed her. Luna felt kind of bad inflicting them on an unsuspecting world, but that couldn't be helped now. Then, once she reached the in-between her Sight had gone havoc, thrusting every possible world into her eyes at the same time like a kaleidoscope gone crazy, swirling and changing, and she had begun to fear she couldn't pick the right one. But just when she had been about to fall into desperation Potter, had reached out for her! His magic had come to her and guided her and Luna's heart had soared. Truly this meant that he wanted to be her friend! And he would help her free her family; she just had to find him first.

Luna had always had a good grasp of her wandless magic; it didn't do pinpoint precision, but she generally got to her goal. Seeming sick when the muggle machines said she wasn't would have been suspicious, seeming healthy when the machines claimed her to be at death's door was a much better tactic.

She reached for the button on the outside of the lift and sent it down, hiding behind the big, white plastic bags full of bedclothes. Notice-me-not, she thought, imagining wispy white notice-me-not flowers blooming all around and over her, sheltering her with their sweet-scented petals. _Notice-me-not, notice-me-not, notice-me-not. _There were cleaners in bright yellow and red outfits down in the basement, and guards in their pretty, dark green jackets and white pants, but the scent of the notice-me-nots permeated the basement, covering their noses and eyes and ears, filling them with sweet, sweet oblivion and Luna sneaked in the shadows quickly into the car that would bring take the laundry away, grabbing a red coat from a table on her way; it was for an adult so it was big enough to be decent despite the fact she was only wearing a paper hospital gown under it. She then hid behind laundry bags.

"You wouldn't believe what I heard from my little two-year-old princess' mouth the other day," one of the cleaners said to a guard that was leaning against the car. Luna couldn't see the guard, but she saw the cleaner was this thin woman who really looked like she should eat more.

"Children these days. Too much bad influences," the guard commiserated with a bored voice. It was a man's voice, if a bit high.

"She was watching this cartoon with the space elves and when the villain broke out the plan of the week – I think it was to destroy all ice-cream in the world to steal little children's happiness – she said: sweet Mary mum of God!" The cleaner turned away after pushing one more bag inside. Luna heard the guard wondering where the child had heard that one before the doors were slammed shut.

It was dark in the back of the van, but it was comforting darkness where her flowers blossomed freely. The floor began to vibrate as the motor was started and Luna leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. London was a big city, but she would figure something out and Potter would probably be looking for her too. Harry. Maybe she should start calling him Harry now. She wasn't afraid, she wasn't confused. Later, when she had time, she would look into her new memories, but now it was better to just drop a blanket on them to keep them compliant and out of mind; she was a witch with a mission. It was a warm woolen blanket since mistreating your memories was a mean thing and they usually mistreated you right back. She could apologize for the delay later.

This was how Luna Lovegood escaped from the Oz London main base. The people who panicked five minutes after the fact would have been terribly embarrassed to learn how easy it had been.

* * *

A big part of his problems was that he didn't have a wand anymore. Harry had been so scared the night he had bloated his aunt, certain they were going to snap his wand and doom him to live at the edges of the wizarding world, still in, but not a real wizard anymore. They might as well have snapped it for all the good the one year's respite had done to him. He was pretty sure he still had his magic, but what good was it if he couldn't use it? It was like having a computer without an interface!

Harry had never been much of a brooding type, but he had his limits. He had just fainted in front of the whole class, his aunt-come-mum Petunia had been informed and she was already on her way to smother him, his mind still felt like somebody had crammed two liters of brain juice into one liter bottle and he didn't even have his wand.

"Ibie sat here until half an hour until Nurse Raquel sent her scramming," Dudley told him. "Didn't think she would even want to ditch the lesson since she's such a science freak, just like you. I think she's sweet on you, Harry." Dudley was grinning in way that promised a lot of grief over his "first girlfriend" later and Harry tried to smile to him, but it came out more as a grimace.

"Help me escape before mum gets here? I'll give you my red gelatin," he tried to bribe his cousin. Well, actually he was just changing the subject since trying to avoid the inevitable would have been really stupid. There was no escaping from Petunia the Mother Hen.

"You are on your own," Dudley said unapologetically and tore his potato chip bag open. He munched on them, content to not say anything, and Harry was slowly eating his red gelatin. He was actually hungry since he had skipped dinner, but eating felt like such a chore. Besides, Harry had once read, Harry Dursley had, that the brain consumed over two hundred calories per day and with how recalcitrant it was being now he was toying with the idea of starving it a little. Should teach it to make his life this difficult.

"I think it is time to leave Mr. Potter in peace," the small school nurse said firmly, walking into the room. She had big, blonde hair tied into a big bun at the nape of her neck and her uniform was different, but the firm eyes suddenly made Harry feel kind of homely.

"Couldn't I just leave? There is nothing wrong with me," he pleaded. He was really tired of always ending up in nurse's office.

"I have not yet managed to confirm what made you pass out, Mr. Potter, so the school policy is for you to remain here for two hours so I can monitor your state," Nurse Raquel explained with apologetic voice. Harry looked at the thick, metallic bangle around his left arm, its access program linked to the nurse's laptop. It monitored his blood pressure, blood sugar, pulse, temperature, possible inflammations and who knew what else. The little LCD showed a bright yellow smiley face and a hand that waved to him happily. GET BETTER SOON it told him.

"Do I have to be here to be monitored, ma'am?" he asked. He didn't like being difficult – he was nice to the people who would fix him if he got hurt on principle – but he knew for a fact there wasn't anything wrong with him physically. He just couldn't tell Nurse Raquel it was some kind of memory overload.

"I'm sorry, but I need you to be where I can quickly reach you," she said, seeming unhappy somehow. Harry thought it might be because she couldn't tell what had made him faint like that; she was probably used to figuring things like these out by pressing a key.

And so Harry was left alone in the alcove, separated from the rest of the room with a calmingly green curtain, as Nurse Raquel had to leave for her office. The medical facility was like the rest of the school, modern and airy and sunny and almost painfully clean and very painfully strange-familiar. There was a small television fastened to the ceiling, allowing him watch it easily from his position of lying down, and there was a remote on the bedside table. He grabbed it and pressed the on/off button, letting the television flare into life. There was a red-headed middle-aged man and "Andromeda, I'm home", click, footage of 01 Gundam over blue sea and "the ship carried four OZ RIM-1 Thunderbird missile launchers", click, pink package with flowers on it and "feminine hygiene products", click. Harry watched, but he didn't really see or hear much of it. Click.

He didn't have his wand anymore. His fingers missed it, he felt half naked without it, like he had gone to school only in his underwear. It had been holly, eleven inches long and held the feather of Fawkes as its core. Not having his wand was a real, practical problem, for how was he to get back to his own world without it, but that wasn't the worst of it, though Harry couldn't have told exactly why. He had been first temporally and then dimensionally displaced by Hermione, who he had thought he could count on to not do anything stupid ever, he had become a Dursley and a nerd, his head was hurting and his memories were screwed up and that he had lost his wand was just the icing that crowned the spoiled cupcake. Harry had never been very angry person. His only brush with real rage had been when he had thought his parents had been betrayed by their best friend and that had felt like some animal with sharp teeth had been trying to claw and bite its way through his chest. Now that animal had been awakened again and it was chewing him, first sluggishly, but getting more and more intense.

He was mourning the loss of his Invisibility cloak, the only possession he'd had left from his father that wasn't money locked away at Gringotts, when the word snake stilled his finger on the remote.

It was a London zoo. It was a little different the same way everything was little different here, but Harry was fairly sure that it was the same zoo he had been taken to on Dudley's eleventh birthday, where he had spoken with a snake for the first time.

"The best measure for reflecting the dangerousness of a snake's venom is that of LD50. The lower this number is, the less venom is required to cause death. By that measure, the most venomous snake in the world would be this beauty: Australian inland taipan." The camera zoomed to a big, brown snake that was basking under a lamp. The man explained how this was its winter colouring and during summer it would be olive coloured. The snake had Harry's undivided attention.

He had lost his wand and he had lost his Invisibility cloak, but he was still a Parselmouth, wasn't he? That wasn't something that could just be taken away from him.

"_Australian inland taipan_," he hissed. Like always his brain insisted at first he was talking ordinary English, but the slight hissing accent he had acquired revealed the truth to him. A little happiness flashed through him at this discovery, but then the camera moved from the inland taipan to another terrarium.

"And here we have a prime example of a snake that has different survival tactics. The boa constrictor will first strike at the prey, grabbing it with its teeth, it then proceeds to constrict the prey until death before consuming it whole," the man's voice explained. It had cream base colour that was patterned with reddish brown saddles and it looked just as bored as Harry remembered. He felt like he had travelled to the past. Harry half expected for rat-faced Piers Polkiss to shout about him talking to the boa constrictor, for Dudley to push him so he would fall to the ground, for the glass to disappear.

"_Disappear," _he whispered. Nothing happened. The animal inside his chest clawed and bit.

Harry Potter didn't know and never would find out now, but there had been an enemy he hadn't had. Theodore Nott was a Slytherin of good, old family, the way the old purebloods saw good. His father was a sentenced Death Eater so it would have made sense if Theodore had decided to torment Harry like Draco had.

The quality of Slytherins had been on slow but steady decay for the last few generations; the ambitious and cunning house had shown too much ambition and too little cunning, but Theodore was a different case. It wasn't that he felt like forgiving and forgetting. He was simply able to instinctively gauge the weaknesses and tolerances of his fellow students, knowing just who he could push and how far before something broke. Those keen eyes had been glued to the school celebrity and Theodore hadn't liked what he had seen. He knew that Harry Potter had somebody out for his blood out there, someone stronger than him and far crueller. So Draco didn't know when to stop pushing and got pushed right back. In this at least, Theodore knew something that Lord Voldemort, Draco Malfoy or any of Harry Potter's more or less serious nemeses had yet to learn. Keep trying to break Potter and eventually something would break.

Just not necessarily Potter.

Harry stared at the television, his eyes narrowed. He'd had a harsh life, he had been at mortal peril every year he had gone to Hogwarts and those were what he considered happy times. Now he'd had a happier future with his godfather yanked away from him only to have his whole world, literally, yanked from under him _by his friend_ and he wasn't going to _take this _anymore.

"_DISAPPEAR!" _he hissed and something hot and sharp bloomed inside him.

It wasn't obvious for a second or so, but then people started screaming and running around in circles as the Brazilian boa constriction escaped from its terrarium. It looked a lot bigger now when it had uncoiled itself and stretched on the floor. The snaked didn't attack anyone, just as Harry remembered, but simply nipped playfully at a plump boy's heels and then turned towards the camera. The camera was promptly knocked over and all he saw was closeup of cement floor and a rush of cream and brown scales. Maybe it was his magic or maybe it was just very lively memory, but he could have sworn he heard it hiss with excited voice: _Thanks, amigo. Brazil, here I come._

Harry closed his eyes and tried to feel if he was tired, or worse, about to pass out again. He found he wasn't and it was a relief; he was done with fainting. Slowly a grin spread over his face and it was, if not outright scary, at least slightly unnerving. He didn't have his wand and he didn't have his cloak and he didn't have his friends, but he still had his magic. He was going to be alright. He was going to get everything back.

* * *

AN: Mama Quilla is an Incan moon goddess "Mother Moon". Luna's mother hasn't been given a canon name. Many in the fandom use Selene, moon themed obviously, but I wanted something bit more exotic.

Ibie will not be a major character. I just needed to have at least one on-screen friend of Harry Dursley or he would have looked like a total recluse.

In LD50 the 50 should have been in this tiny font a bit lower than the letters (I can't remember the term for that) but ffnet refuses to let me upload that.

AN2: I have referred to several fanfics in the alternate dimensions Harry could have chosen. There are thirteen evil Dumbledore and daddy Snape fics in a dozen and I have read a few with Dracula, but I only really remember An Aunt's Love by Emma Lipardi. Sirius kidnapping Harry is a common one and the Somalian warlord one is from Heir to a Warlord by OccAmy Phyre. Theme-wise it isn't my cup of tea, but it is quality writing and the idea is certainly original. The one Luna saw is from Enter the Dragon by Doghead Thirteen.

Authors are credited with their stories, OCs and plotlines.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter II: Something old, something new**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

The five scientists might not have been the world's greatest tacticians ever, but neither had they become the masterminds of Operation Meteor by chance. They were in contact as much as possible and had divided the world into turfs, according to each protégé's strengths and weaknesses. This was how Duo Maxwell, pilot 02, had been assigned to the South Africa Federation. The North Africa Union and Kemet kingdom were fairly stable, but with the exception of small, independent Lesotho and Madagascar, which had become the AC era Switzerlands, southern Africa was another matter entirely. Kampala and Entebbe were in ferment, with rebellious locals straining against the Alliance's hold. The Imani zealots, spiritual followers of the executed, sainted Mathilda Sisulu, had graduated from riots and bashings to jungle warfare, the slightly more moderate Umoja following in its footsteps. The Earth Alliance was in all-out war in three places: Russia, Brazil and Uganda. In reply to Imani and Umoja, the Alliance had created the USF, a special squad brought in to destroy the terrorists and maintain the peace, no matter what they had to do to achieve it.

They draw a gun, you bring out a bazooka. They put one of your men in the morgue, you do over ten of theirs. That was South Africa. It kind of reminded Duo of L2, not counting weather, plant life and bazookas.

He had a plan, a back-up plan and two back-ups for the back-up. Now it was all waiting game and that was what unnerved him. Calla Lovegood had made it clear through the spy Umoja had in the Entebbe base that she wouldn't move unless Duo could prove that Oz couldn't make her family suffer for it. That meant Quatre had to get a message in before the London Oz branch could contact Entebbe and Lake Victoria and these days, that was a gamble.

And then there was the local cuisine. Duo wasn't picky about food, being the ex-street rat that he was, but this was a bit much even for him. Nsenene, or bush crickets, were served fried in oil with salt. Nswaa was served similarly to nsenene, but made with white ants. Yeah, Duo knew that stuff had seven times the protein and minerals grain had and vitamins to boot, and that it was some kind of culturally accepted thing, but disgusting was disgusting and if he didn't get out of this miserable hellhole soon he didn't know what he would do.

He leaned back on his bench, putting away the tool he had been using and groaned. As tired as he was, the routine maintenance of his lady came first: black and white, wielding a green scythe, cloaked. Death came invisible and on silent feet, ready to make the final strike.

Duo was a guest at an Umoja base and he helped them the best he could as thanks. He couldn't go far from the base where Deathscythe was since he was on call and it could come at any moment, but he helped with the stuff near the base. He had just been out on patrol, and to make matters worse it was raining, hard. The rainy season should end soon, but it had decided to go with a bang rather than with a whimper.

Duo's attention was drawn back into the present when his stomach, dissatisfied with the small amount of ants he had eaten for lunch, made its current state of affairs known with a low growl. He rose from the bench, tapped Deathscythe's leg affectionately and exited the hall it was kept in, running through the rain and into the main building. It was just an old warehouse that had been modified when the Umoja had claimed it, made of wood and corrugated iron, but it was kept scrupulously clean and Duo always used the doormat before daring to enter. He walked down the hallway, making a beeline for the mess hall only to be accosted by Sergeant Bakwa. She was very black and very beautiful and if she had a surname, he didn't know what it was. She was some fifteen years older than Duo and her man was in prison: in that regard a very typical Umoja guerrilla.

"Maxwell. I need you to cover Kadokechi's shift," she said. Duo looked at her apprehensively.

"What's his shift?" he asked already dreading the answer. For a fraction of a second Bakwa's face looked almost sympathetic, but then it hardened again.

"Patrol," was the answer. Duo twitched.

"What? Why can't anyone else do it? And what's wrong with Kadokechi?" he asked. He was hungry and he was tired and it was wet outside. When G had said Africa would suit him well he hadn't said anything about the rainy season. Duo, a child of a colony with no weather, hated rain.

"Because everyone else is attending their duties. Kadokechi sprained his ankle," Bakwa said and sighed.

She had that far-away look in her eyes again that meant the newest plan to take the Entebbe prison had been rejected again. If she hadn't just ordered Duo out into the rain on an empty stomach he would have been a lot more sympathetic, but even now he mustered a small twinge. Maybe, after the Lovegoods were good and rescued, he would attack the prison on his way out. Scare the guards away and flatten the outer walls. That should give the man plenty time to escape… But of course a plague of common murderers and rapists would escape along with him. No good.

The man hadn't even been a guerrilla as far as Duo could tell, just an unlucky follower of Sisulu. It was a pity, but Duo's plate was full enough as it was.

* * *

_Bridge of Stars_, a historical drama about the construction of the F5 colony cluster and the heirs of the two houses that built the main colony, played in Mr. Bing's classroom. The trials and tribulations of Long Huang and Dee Menren were not only passionate, dramatic and full of both love and violence, but also so historically accurate that the movie had gotten into Mr. Bing's good graces. It was in fact interesting enough that it kept distracting Harry from his task to repeat the feat of yesterday afternoon: to use wandless magic.

Things had gotten difficult after the initial success. The good thing was that Harry could now feel his magic, a bright center just below his heart that spread into many little branches, and someone (_Hermione_) had once told him that being able to feel your magic would make you a lot stronger. The bad thing was that when Harry tried to cast spells it just kind of oozed a lot into different directions rather than did what it was supposed to do. It was like trying to eat spaghetti with a spoon. When Mr. Bing had told them they would be watching a movie, Harry had thought it would be ideal training time; everyone's attention would be on the screen, it would be dark so no one should see if (when) he made his pencil float and the soundtrack would cover his mumbling. What could go wrong?

A wand wasn't necessary to casting spells, but since it took the place of the wizard's focus, once a person got into the habit of using it, wandless magic became very difficult to do. What Harry didn't know and contrary to popular assumption, having power did not mean that a person could perform wandless magic more easily. In fact, the more power a person had, the more difficult it was. Intentional, purposeful wandless magic was a product of good control over one's magic. To perform wandless spells you had to be in harmony with your magical core. Some people were natural at it—they could feel strands of magic form the spell they wished to perform and made it do their bidding. For others it was a long, hard road.

"Wingardium leviosa," he whispered and pointed at the pencil with his index finger, trying to force his magic to ooze towards it. For a second it seemed to do just that, extended obediently and ready to execute his command, but then his elation broke his concentration and it kind of splashed on top of the pencil when he would have needed a focus, precision.

On the screen Menren sank into a chair in the command centre and stroked her inky black hair out of her face. Huang was pacing like a wild animal in a cage.

"You're not all-powerful, Huang," she said suddenly. She was dressed in a blocky pressure suit that seemed so old-fashioned and very futuristic to Harry at the same time, her helmet was on a table next to her. Huang looked up at her and tried to smile. Even that faintest curve of his mouth pulled angrily at the recent burn scar on his cheek.

"I should be," he said, but there was no anger in his voice, and no inflection, only regret. "For our dream, I should be." Menren reached across the table to touch him, but as her palm came close his eyes closed and he stiffened, awkward and almost vibrating. He sucked in a breath and licked his lips, she blushed. And frantic shouting from outside the room disrupted the scene.

You are not all-powerful… but I should be… Harry shook his head angrily and tried again, this time on Parseltongue, only to be distracted a minute later when a saboteur depressurized the shuttle bay and the poor solders inside got sucked into cold, dark space. He kept trying on both languages, but if yesterday's television had aided him, now it worked against him. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the angry, biting feeling in his chest, but now he was just frustrated and it didn't come back. And he was squirming on his seat, uncomfortable. Four-hour classes were painfully long and sitting on the hard chair for almost two and half hours straight had made his bum nastily numb.

"_Wingardium leviosa," _and nothing happens at all. _"Wingardium leviosa,"_ and he was tempted to bang his head against the tabletop.

On the screen, Huang's hair was slipping from his topknot, but he was standing ramrod straight and the small burn on his left cheek gave him a ruggedly handsome look. Menren's wedding robes were a little too big and the hem was already dirty, but she was shining. The noise of the crowd assembled carried over to them from behind a red curtain. They both looked nervous, but valiant.

"This is our world now, beloved," she said. Huang nodded and took her hand.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

"Terrified," Menren answered. Together they pushed aside the curtain to meet the future.

Drat. It was over now and he still hadn't gotten the damned little thing to float even an inch. He glared at the offending pencil sullenly as Mr. Bing began lecturing them, pointing out this and that detail of the movie and telling them more of the circumstances in China that drove the pioneers into space and why their colony cluster was the last completed even though it's construction was the first begun. Mr. Bing's Adam's apple was bobbing up and down and Harry hoped his pencil would just do the same. He had a feeling his grades would drop drastically and he wondered why he cared. They were Harry Dursley's grades, not his.

But wasn't he Harry Dursley now, he asked himself, or wasn't he Harry Dursley as much as he was Harry Potter? His head was beginning to hurt again and there was a distressing second when the memories started to bleed together again, but just when Harry was sure this would lead to another fainting episode, the bell rang and the memories, Potter's and Dursley's, were pushed back. The school day was finally over, but so was Harry's patience with his pencil. He had to get out and do something fun or his head would explode. He gathered his books and tried to dodge out of the classroom quietly, but he wasn't quick enough to escape Ibie and Dudley.

"Wasn't that a nice surprise? I for one wouldn't complain if we watched more historical dramas, though it can't be the staple of our education—that would be like trying to live on cookies. A little more jam would be nice, though," Ibie said and took Harry's hand. He was wondering if there was some polite way to ask for it back. "Have you made any plans for the evening?" she continued and Harry wondered if he wanted to have any or not.

"I'm sure Harry can clear his busy calendar for some snogging time," Dudley decided it for him. Ibie looked at their linked hands like she had only now realised they were joined and then let go like Harry's skin had burned hers. (The way it had burned his first DADA professor, whatever his name had been. Quirrelmort? No, not that.) Ibie was blushing and trying to look prim and proper. Dudley was smirking, not entirely unkindly. Harry didn't know whether laugh or cry.

"First comes love, then comes marriage. How did it continue, something about a baby?" Dudley continued unabashed.

"You don't understand anything!" Ibie bristled, indignant like a cat that had been dropped into water. "And didn't they sing that back in the kindergarten?"

She dived left at the end of the stairs, seeking safety in one of the computer labs, and Dudley saw Piers Polkiss and left after him, though he still had the time to promise to give his baby brother some advice with girls, wink wink, nudge nudge, leaving Harry alone with his own thoughts. Harry Potter had never really thought about having a girlfriend, other than in the vague sense that one day he would have one, and probably more than one over the course of years, since how many people married their first love? Still, he had a feeling that if he had really been Harry Dursley all the way, Ibie might one day have become his girlfriend and then, well, who knew? But while she was nice and bright, she wasn't quite right, not for him. It was actually kind of sad, now that he thought about it. There was this feeling, like something that had been meant to be wasn't anymore, like a river's course had been altered…

And he needed some help if he was beginning to think like this. He was thirteen years old, for Merlin's sake! And he wasn't going to stay.

He was composing a to do list in his mind as he walked, not really paying attention to his surroundings beyond making sure he didn't walk into a wall. One, he thought, get this wandless magic thing work. Two, try to figure out if this world had a magical society. Using his magic should bring them to his door if there was any. Three, is there a Sirius Black? If Dursleys and Potters existed in both worlds then why shouldn't his godfather? Though he didn't know why these nicer Dursleys wouldn't have told him he had a godfather. Pondering the mystery of the potential godfather, he didn't notice the dean, Mrs. Zebedee Leger, before she grabbed his arm and begun to lead him the other way, babbling cheerfully about a new student Harry would now get to lead around so he would know his way around the next day, and really, young Mr. Bitar was such a nice, polite young man, not at all like most teenagers nowadays. Harry should make him feel welcome; the boy was from Kemet and didn't know anyone here.

Harry's head was fairly buzzing by the time they got to the principal's office, just one turn and a short corridor away. Mrs. Leger was a person who conquered and domineered with an iron fist whatever space she occupied. She was very beautiful and very black, her hair shaven close to her skull, and she never stopped talking. It took Harry a moment to notice that the principal was there, the elderly man easily overshadowed by her sheer personality, and another moment to notice the new student himself.

His first thought was: I have got to introduce him to Dudley or he is going to henpeck the poor boy to death. The boy was blond, small and very sweet looking, just the kind Dudley liked to bully in other words. But Dudley usually left Harry's friends in peace.

"I'm Harry Dursley, it's nice to meet you," he said and offered his hand. The blond boy took it and smiled to Harry. He had the bluest eyes Harry had ever seen, and easily biggest too. He simply oozed good breeding and manners all around the office.

"I am Qays Bitar. It is nice to meet you, Mr. Dursley," the boy answered. His handshake was a lot firmer than Harry had expected.

"Please call me Harry, when people say Mr. Dursley I always feel like dad Vernon is standing behind me," he said and thought about the boy's name. Qays sounded Arabian and he wondered if the boy was a Muslim. That would save him from the kidneys.

"It's n-nice to see you get along. If, if you would see young Mr. Bitar around and l-lead him to his dorm room. His luggage has already been sent there," Principal Hervealcide asked and Qays showed Harry a keychain with the dorm and the room number on it, his tag hanging from it next to the key. He nodded. At least making a new friend should take his mind off things and Qays seemed to be a nice enough bloke.

He wondered about the boy's ethnicity. This world seemed to be somewhat colour blind, but he didn't seem Arabian. But he wasn't a friend yet so he didn't think he should ask personal questions like that. Harry Potter had been raised to consider ethnical questions dead serious since they were so easy to misunderstand really badly.

"Follow me," he asked and let the boy out of the office. "There's a cafeteria, three computer labs and the staff's offices down on the first floor. The rest of the classes are up, and we have a small greenhouse wedged between the one of the girls' dorms and the main building." So we have a greenhouse, Harry thought a second later and cursed himself. So not the moment to get an episode because he remembered something new. He covered his uncertainty by using his tag and showing Qays one of the computer labs. It was a bit small, but nice, with five round tables that each had four computers.

"We all have tags and they work from seven am. to eleven pm. You are going to have to sign the terms of service: we can use the computers and the net—whenever it's working, that is. It's been two months since we last lost the connection so it's bound to go down someday soon." There had been a time when the Internet had been dependable, but it seemed to be such a long time ago.

"If there is anything you might like to know, ask away," he encouraged. Qays gave his knobbly stick a hesitant look.

"Are we really supposed to be carrying these around?" he asked and waved it little uncomfortably, like he didn't know what to do with it. Harry still didn't know what to do with his, but at least he had learned to not look complete idiot while carrying it.

"Yeah, and the girls have their parasols. The students beat each other with them when the teachers aren't looking. It's one of those things that everybody knows, but nobody speaks of since it's against the rules. It's supposed to build character, though I have never gotten just how. Not the girls, though. Beating people up isn't feminine enough, I guess." When Qays gave him a disbelieving look he shrugged his shoulders. "Just wait till tomorrow, someone is going to try and pick on the new guy. It's never made any sense to me." When the boy turned his head, the swish of fair hair teased some memory in his mind.

"How old are you?" he asked. He was surprised to hear Qays was in fact two years older than him; he looked like he would be Harry's age. Maybe he would be safe from Dudley after all; he didn't really bother upperclassmen.

He showed Qays his way around the main building. As they walked out into the cold sunlight and towards the boy's dorms Harry found himself thinking about Luna Lovegood. That was surprising since he had never even spoken with the girl. She was from a different house—he was pretty sure it was Ravenclaw—and one year younger, so he had never had anything to do with her. He only knew her by reputation; Loony Lovegood, who dressed oddly and never seemed to be quite there and believed in strange things like Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, whatever those might be. He only had the faintest notion of what she looked like—something about blonde hair—and he had no clue why he was now remembering her, kind of. Must be part of his head straightening out his memories.

"What dorm is your room at? Unless it's at Imran Khan Dorm—that's number three—you are required to have a meal plan. In Imran they have apartment style living with kitchens, so if you live there you can choose to cook yourself." Harry didn't think he could have gotten a room at Imran so late into the semester. The rooms there were always booked first and not only by those who wanted to make their meals. Single rooms played into it a lot.

"What is a meal plan if I may ask?" Qays asked. Harry had a feeling this should have been explained already.

"Well, they load meal pounds to your ID card and it's good for both the cafeteria and campus cafes." The cafeteria meals were preloaded into the card as part of the tuition, but parents had to pay for everything that was bought from the cafes.

"Mrs. Leger mentioned the meal plan once, but she then proceeded to explain other things. She seems to be in the habit of finishing people's sentences for them." Qays seemed a little hesitant and Harry wondered if he maybe was afraid of being seen as rude. No problems there, he thought. Everybody knew Mrs. Leger was a chatterbox.

"She is always like that. One of the cleaners once told me she even did it at her own wedding." He paused for a moment, trying to remember. "She said no one knew if Mrs. Leger married Mr. Leger, herself or the priest, Father Brigge." Lost as he was in his recollection it took Harry several seconds to notice that the noise he heard from his newest schoolmate was choked laughter. There was this nice, warm, and a bit disbelieving feeling he always got when he realized someone liked him for himself. It was probably a product of his damaged self-esteem, he realized now. It was funny, the way he saw himself like from an outside perspective. For a moment his magical problems were forgotten. Luna Lovegood was thoroughly forgotten.

So when he heard a girl's voice call out for him and he turned his head a blonde girl was running towards him he was baffled. This was because she seemed to be wearing only some red coat that had the logo of a cleaning firm on it. Also, she was shouting his name and he had no idea how he was supposed to know her. Some thus-far-forgotten childhood friend of Harry Dursley maybe?

Why on Earth was she wearing that, and why pink bunny slippers?

* * *

Quatre Winner was sitting in the Pricipal's office, feeling uncomfortable in his new school uniform and especially so with the knobbly stick he was supposed to carry. He was still speculating whether it might be some traditional practical joke, even if Mr. Hervalcide didn't seem the type to do that, when Mrs. Leger returned bringing a dark-haired boy with her. The boy wasn't anything unusual, not particularly handsome or obtrusive. Perhaps a bit smaller than average, a little shorter than Quatre, he had an open, honest face and friendly green eyes, the kind that led people to trust you with their secrets and the way he felt reinforced this impression. And he was carrying a stick of his own.

The introductions were made and Harry led him to a tour of the school. Quatre suspected he had been given to the boy so he would make his first friend in the new school and as he talked with Harry Dursley, he had to admit that if he had really been Qays Bitar, they would have been fast friends before the day was over. The school was a pleasing blend of neo-gothic and hypermodern, with large stairways and high halls, modern classrooms and cozy common rooms for the students, made of stone and steel and glass. One of the things he liked in Earth were the stone buildings; there were none in the colonies.

"If there is anything you might like to know ask away," Harry told him. Quatre gave his knobbly stick a hesitant look.

"Are we really supposed to be carrying these around?" he asked and waved it a little uncomfortably. He couldn't imagine what it was good for.

"Yeah, and the girls have their parasols. The students beat each other with them when the teachers aren't looking. It's one of those things that everybody knows, but nobody speaks of since it's against the rules. It's supposed to build character, though I have never gotten just how. Not the girls, though. Beating people up isn't feminine enough, I guess," was the answer. Now he was even more baffled, but Harry seemed to be serious and Quatre was _very sensitive _to these things; his life often depended on this skill. Maybe this was some kind of culture difference—a British characteristic.

They left the building and Harry was telling him about the dorms and the meal system when a girl's voice called for Harry, but not Harry Dursley. Still, Harry turned towards it. Quatre turned also and was met with the shock of the year.

It was Luna Lovegood. Quatre simply stood there as his brain was trying to catch up with what his senses were telling it. She was out of the Oz base, seemed healthy, was dressed in a red coat with the logo of some local cleaning firm and ran over the muddy grass towards the boy standing beside him. He had been introduced to Quatre as Harry Dursley, but he obviously recognized and identified himself with the name Potter as well. Double identity? Suspicion warred with disbelief. Quatre knew better than most how appearances could be deceiving and age didn't mean that much, but Dursley—Potter—was only _thirteen. _According to what he had said and the school's records, a small voice reminded Quatre. That couldn't necessarily be trusted.

"Hi, I'm Luna and I need your help. My family's been captured," Lovegood said without preamble, grabbing Harry's both hands and holding on tight. Recognition was beginning to shine through the confused expression on Harry's face.

"Luna Lovegood? How are you here?" he asked, casting a glance that was most likely meant to be covert at Quatre.

"I escaped through the basement," Lovegood said and let go of Harry's left hand to touch his forehead. His body jerked like she had given him an electric shock.

At this point Quatre's training and common sense finally kicked in. They were standing in the middle of the yard and with the way Lovegood was dressed anyone could decide to come ask questions. He had to get them out of sight and contact his Maguanacs, keep Harry under observation until he managed to rescue the girl's parents also and then contact Duo ASAP. He gave Harry an evaluating look and reluctantly shifted his hand closer the gun he had hidden inside his coat.

"We need to go somewhere more secure," he said. Lovegood nodded sagely and Harry, for a reason he couldn't discern, ducked his head and blushed a little.

"Of course," he said. "Let's go to the greenhouse. The gardeners have already left and my tag is good for the door. I have an elective biology course." Well, that was unexpectedly helpful. And Quatre was happy as he gestured Harry to lead the way, still keeping a close eye on him, but hopeful he wouldn't need to use force. He couldn't claim the title of a pacifist anymore, being one of the five most high-profile soldiers in the war, but that didn't mean it came naturally for him. He could distance himself inside his Sandrock, when his enemies were encased in metal also, like they were only clever machines and when he shot, it was steel and titanium that came apart. Even now, the times he had pointed a gun at a person standing face to face with him could be counted on one hand, and while he knew he would enter double digits soon, he didn't want it to be with a child, didn't want to threaten someone he had talked and laughed with.

The walk to the greenhouse felt painfully long and Quatre was constantly aware that if authorities came to ask questions later, there was no way anyone who had seen them would have forgotten. It was a blessed relief when Harry opened the door and they finally got out of sight—even more for Lovegood than him, he realized when he heard the soft sight and saw how her flesh was on goose pimples. It was a sunny day, but it was early in the spring and she had to have been very cold. The greenhouse was hot and humid and sweet-scented—it almost felt like breathing water. Many different kinds or maidenhair crawled among the foliage in all shades of green, bright orange flowers of lipstick vines seemed to be aflame at the tips of the branches, golden trumpets climbed up a rock formation and countless other plants he didn't know the names of flourished all around them. His family had a greenhouse back in L4, but it was for plants that needed low humidity and the jungle-like richness of this one took his breath away. As they ducked between a tree of some sort and a golden trumpet shrub, he thought that it had to be the most pleasant place he had hid in, at least in short term. Trying to sleep there might be an unpleasantly damp affair.

"I will call for help, but first I would like to ask some questions," he said. "Harry, why does she call you Potter." If Harry was startled he hid it very well. Quatre couldn't feel a twitch from him.

"My birth parents were Potters. I have been adopted by my aunt and uncle," he answered. That actually answered his second question also. One could be adopted under many different circumstances, but Harry had used a past tense when he had spoken of his family so they were most likely dead. Since Lovegood had known him by his original surname they were probably childhood friends, not very close anymore if the way it had taken Harry a few moments to recognize her was any indication. Still, close enough that she had come to him; maybe he was the only friend she had in London.

"Do you have any other friends in London, Ms. Lovegood?" he asked her. She shook her head.

"No. You can call me Luna. I have never before hidden from soldiers with anyone else, after all," she answered with a slightly dreamy voice. Then she turned to look at Harry and all dreaminess disappeared, made way to a burning intensity in her eyes. "Will you help me recue my family, Harry? Please, the soldiers holding them aren't nice people and they are forcing my grandmum to work for them."

"Of course I will," Harry promised without hesitation, his face pale, but determined. It was a foolish promise, but very noble. And it worked for Quatre. He needed to keep an eye on Harry as long as his mission lasted. It would be much easier now. He took his cell phone, but he didn't have the time to flip it open when Luna looked at him again and those blue, protuberant eyes of hers took his captive, seemed to know Quatre much better than he had wished anyone to know.

"Can we trust you? You are a killer after all," she asked him. Her voice didn't waver; she might as well have said that the sky was blue and grass was green as pronounce him a killer. He was too shocked to answer.

"A killer?" Harry asked with something brittle and dark in his voice, but there was no real fear in him.

"Yes. He has killed a lot and he doesn't feel very sorry about it either," Luna said. A jolt of uneasiness flashed through Quatre at this and it wasn't only because Luna knew… or guessed. She couldn't really know. He was sorry he had killed all those men and women because killing was wrong and they were still ordinary men and women with families of their own under the steel and titanium.

But did he _feel _sorry? He had tried very hard to not feel. He couldn't function half as efficiently as a soldier if he did.

"I am a soldier. It is my mission to rescue the Lovegood family from the Oz," he explained. Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Aren't you a bit young to be a soldier? Who is in charge of enlisting in your colony that they would accept fifteen-year-olds? And what are you doing here in school?" He took a step forward and half a step to the left so he was crouching between Luna and Quatre.

Quatre mentally kicked himself and turned the charm on. It wasn't any "empath superpower" like Duo had once put it, but simply part of his personality. Iria had once told him he could charm the birds off a tree—of course, in those more innocent days he never used his charm for anything more serious than wriggling himself free from the curfew their father had set.

He was genuinely friendly by nature and at times like this it really helped to be a people person. It made people open up and trust him. He explained at length about the logic of hiding in school, sidestepping skillfully the issue of his age that forced him to do so. The word Gundam was never mentioned. Quatre knew how his innocent looks and angelic smile worked for him and soon Harry seemed to relax in his suspicion a bit. Enough that he shouldn't try to escape with Luna at least. And while Harry didn't look at him quite the way he had earlier that day, Quatre thought they might come out of this with the younger boy still considering him a friend. He wasn't sure he liked how relieved that made him feel. Being a friendly person, he thought that forming a friendship was a serious matter, not something that should be handed out to someone he had only known less than a day. His situation only made the possibility more an impossibility.

He called for his men and requested some clothes for Luna Lovegood. A small part of him was amused as this had to be the shortest undercover assignment ever. But charm or not, his charges were remarkably calm about the situation. As he waited hidden in the greenhouse with a boy and a girl that really should have been scared but weren't, not even when he pulled his gun when there was a rap at the glass, and as he ushered them out of the school grounds and into the car, basically kidnapping a thirteen-year-old boy since he didn't have permission to remove him from school grounds, he wondered why he felt that the situation had spiraled so out of his control when there was no enemy actions involved and one third of his rescue mission had just fallen on his lap.

He didn't wonder about Luna, she had been in Oz's hands and had surely seen more than a girl her age should have, but Harry was different. He wondered what kind of life a thirteen-year-old had to have lived that he wasn't afraid of being taken away by a reputed killer with a gun.

Luna patted his hand as she climbed into the car.

"It's not that bad. You are not very intimidating-looking. This is a little like being kidnapped by a golden retriever," she said. Much to his annoyance Quatre could kind of see what she meant.

"I have not kidnapped you. I am here to save you," he said, but his voice was weaker than he would have liked. Luna Lovegood was proving to be quite unnerving a person.

"I know. It is nice of you," she allowed, but Quatre had a feeling she would have been happier if he had not been there.

* * *

Harry was sure that Luna Lovegood was from his universe. She had called him Potter and no one called him Potter here. Besides, she had touched his scar.

In his real universe his scar often seemed greater than life, but in truth it was pretty small and thin line, not very visible. Especially not from under his bangs and no one, not Dudley or mum Petunia or even Nurse Raquel when she had examined him had noticed it had appeared on him yet. Back home everybody and their pet kneazle had known, but here it was like the ultimate secret handshake. Luna knew it, thus she was in the know. But how had she gotten here and could she get back? How could Harry ask her questions when Qays was right there in the car with them? And what were the other boy's intentions towards them?

Harry Dursley hadn't thought about politics and the war much other than bitched over the disappearing Internet connection. Neither had Harry Potter, but to his credit he had only been there for two days and he had more than enough on his plate as it was. But now he was combing through his memories, trying to ascertain that the rebels were the good guys and it wasn't his sympathy for the underdogs talking. He wanted to help Luna out anyway and all, but this Qays bloke had a gun and he didn't carry it for fun.

Actually, it would have been a lot more disturbing if the boy had carried it for fun. But still, some information for informed decision about what to do about Qays would be nice.

If you read the papers or watched the news, the rebels were murderous scum who tortured puppies for fun, but the Internet was more free a channel and now that Harry thought about it, he had to admit that these people had some pretty good points. The colonists rejected the legitimacy of the Parliament of United Earth Sphere Alliance to govern them without representation, which was pretty sound. Ibie had once or twice ranted about how before the war the colonies had to pay extra taxes, allegedly because of environmental issues of space travel, but in truth to aid the mother countries over the depression, and so private citizens had organized a boycott of those Earthen goods that were also produced in space so their economy wouldn't crash. Still sound. UESA had climbed the walls, though. And the Romefeller Foundation seemed kind of slimy to him, like a club of the Malfoy kind of purebloods that would join the Death Eaters the first chance they got, so maybe he should just decide these guys were right.

He watched from the car's window as the buildings went by, wondering how he would help Luna when he hadn't yet managed to levitate a pencil on purpose. When they stopped for red lights he saw a red and black graffiti on the wall of an official-looking building. It was tall, at least three meters, and done very well. It was Mathilda Sisulu in the pose from that one, iconic picture, and it jarred one more memory, almost forgotten. It had been in news, when Sisulu had been executed and her two disciples had received the life sentence. They had been her own younger brother Matthew Sisulu and an Englishman Sirius Black.

Harry brain made a sound like 'mwhabutEEH?' and ran full throttle into a brick wall where it frantically tried to change gears. Sirius Black. His godfather Sirius Black, since he couldn't see there would be that many Englishmen named Sirius anything. His imprisoned-for-life radical godfather Sirius Black. Merlin, no wonder the Dursleys had kept their mouths shut about him.

The limo accelerated, leaving Mathilda Sisulu behind and Harry's head full of questions. _Was _this Sirius his godfather too? How could he help the man? What could he do? He didn't have answers, but he knew he was going to do something. Lack of representation and boycotts aside, this was personal now. He was still going to go back of course, but he needed to help Sirius first. He hadn't saved the first Sirius—he had saved himself—but this one couldn't be an Animagus. Also, he had promised Luna and he couldn't leave her hanging, not when she was all he had left of his old life.

Harry could feel his magic, not broiling this time, but hard and compact like a red-hot coal. The way the human mind works can be strange sometimes. He thought about Wingardium Leviosa and all he could picture was the way Bing's Adam's apple had been bobbing up and down when he had told them about the construction of L5.

"_Wingardium Leviosa," _he snake-hissed under his breath and in front of his mind's eyes Mr. Bing's Adam's apple went up. His magic reached quicker a snake could strike and grabbed. The whole car shook like something big had hit it and Harry could feel the split second the tyres were lifted from the asphalt. Mr. Bing's Adam's apple bobbed down and the tires hit the asphalt again. Sirius, he thought, I did it. With Sisulu's picture too, you would like that, right?

Mr. Bing had been involved also, but that wasn't the point.

"What was that?" Qays asked with tight voice and the big, intimidating man driving the car swerved right from the next crossroads, breaking the speed limit and several other traffic laws. Qays had taken his gun in hand. Harry turned to give Luna rather sheepish look. She was watching him in that dreamy way Harry was beginning to think was typical to her and nodded approvingly.

There isn't only one way to wield true magic. In Europe and in North America, most learn the post-Roman European way, but that isn't "the right way" more than any else. The western African magicians and their _juju, _Indian magic spells, chants of holy books assisted by sacred diagrams and charms, purposeful breathing exercises and Siberian shamans beating their drums and dressing in animal skins to call the guardian spirits into themselves were all the same when you got to the root of it; a way to tell magic what the wielder wanted it to do_. _In the limousine that belonged to Quatre Winner, not that he knew that yet, Harry tried to force his magic into that coal-like form again, but it was like liquid, always flowing between his metaphorical fingers. After a moment of hesitation he pictured Mathilda Sisulu in her red and black glory and tried to remember the feeling of his magic then, the burn of the knowledge that Sirius had been unjustly imprisoned again. Now it obediently _imploded _into the coal and radiated warmth and magic, ready for anything.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered again. Nothing happened; his magic seemed to tremble and reach into nothing, like it didn't know what he wanted it to do. (Actually, in an alley the car passed by a trashcan was briefly lifted from ground and turned upside down, but Harry didn't know.)

Harry leaned his head back and fought the temptation to groan. Of course it couldn't be that easy. He didn't have his wand anymore, but he had Parseltongue and the picture of Sisulu in his head and now he knew to picture things. Too bad it didn't seem to be a very reliable way of doing things. Also, he had a feeling that whenever he did the levitation spell, never mind what he pictured to perform it, he would always remember that Adam's apple going up and down.

* * *

AN: Kemet kingdom used to be Egypt, in case anyone is wondering.

The names of the rebel groups are from Nguzo Saba, the seven guiding principles of Kwanzaa. _Umoja_ (Unity): To strive for and to maintain unity in the family, community, nation, and race. _Imani_ (Faith): To believe with all our heart in our people, our parents, our teachers, our leaders, and the righteousness and victory of our struggle. Of course, those meanings have been perverted here, but that's war for you.

Mental cookie if you can say what movie reference I used and where.

AN2: An answer to the question no one has asked yet: "Why does Harry still have the scar and he is still a Parselmouth when Voldemort's Horcrux was ripped from him?"

Voldemort was needed in the original universe in order to not cause yet another paradox and so that piece of him had to stay behind latched into Neville. But Voldemort hadn't given Harry his own Parselmouth ability (which he would have lost had that been the case.) He had unintentionally changed Harry so he could have it also, kind of giving him a copy, and that wasn't part of Voldemort so it stayed with Harry. The same goes with Harry's scar; while caused by Voldemort, it wasn't his, but Harry's. Due to its magical nature, it was in turn copied on the new body since Harry's magic core was transferred.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter III: Potter School of Whatever Works**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

Destiny refers to a predetermined course of events. It can be conceived as a predetermined future, whether in general or of an individual. It is a concept based on the belief that there is a fixed natural order to the cosmos. Destiny as such doesn't exist. The future isn't set to stone because it hasn't happened yet, but there are probabilities, things that are very likely to happen, like a river will flow in its bed if something doesn't force it to alter its course.

The arrival of Harry Potter into the Alternate Earth AKA Earth Sphere hadn't heralded that great a change by itself. Harry Dursley was an upper-middleclass teenager living privileged upper-middleclass teenager life, going to a prestigious school, with no contact to any warring factions, and had Harry Potter arrived alone he would have been too busy trying to find his way back to his own world to make big changes. Maybe Harry Dursley would have gotten together with Ibie and he wouldn't have. Maybe he would have taken up law enforcement where Harry Dursley's dream had been to have a career in quantum chemistry; it was all the small things. But then Luna Lovegood had followed him. And she had become his connection to the Gundam pilot freedom fighter (or terrorists, depending on who was asked.) She had become his link to a new destiny.

Luna felt a little sorry for him, but really, at this point Harry was spoiled anyway. He'd had a destiny for so long he wouldn't have had a clue what to do without.

They were driving in a real limousine. It wasn't as fun as Luna had thought it might be. There was a lot of room for the legs, the seats were soft and there was even a little television, but limousines were ugly cars. They were too long and flat to look as good as they ought to. She liked short and round cars, the kind that looked like ladybugs. Harry was sitting beside her and Qays Bitar was sitting in the front seat. At least he had said his name was Qays Bitar; Luna wasn't so sure of it. They were on their way to save her father and mother and Luna had warm clothes on so this new world was beginning to look pretty good.

"I like ladybugs," she said. Often she just said things like this, but at times she also wanted to see what people would do. Qays didn't turn his head and neither did the driver, who really shouldn't be driving like that in a city. Maybe they thought she was speaking to Harry.

"Well, I guess they are kind of cute," he said. He didn't seem to be mocking or thinking she was crazy; only a bit befuddled. That was good since she was really set on having her first real friend.

"I like you. May I hug you? I have heard that it gives people a warm, fuzzy feeling," she asked. Now Harry looked even more befuddled and blushed a bit, but he said yes and she hugged him. It worked too; she was feeling very nice.

The car slowed down suddenly so Luna and Harry were thrown against their seat belts and Qays hissed a word she didn't understand, but what had to be a curse, of the not-real kind.

"Oz _something something something,_" said Qays. Harry grabbed her hand and sit straighter, undoing his seatbelt. The chauffeur answered in the same language and both of them moved their right hands towards their waist as the car stopped good five meters from the men.

They were in Oz uniforms, not very high-ranked if Luna was right and she was sure she was. She had seen a lot of soldiers in her life after were all looking kind of silly and the man with the epaulettes was the silliest-looking of them all. Luna's father had always said that it took class to pull off wearing some things, like yellow and orange quilted shirts or beer cork necklaces and radish earrings, and obviously short jackets with wings on the shoulders, red waistcoats, breeches and stockings and calf-length spatterdashes fell into this category as well.

"Isn't spatterdash a really funny word?" she asked from no one particular. The boy who was calling himself Qays made a little strangled sound, but Luna was busy imagining what kind of creature might be named spatterdash. Something that splashed a lot in the puddles, maybe with big, bright-coloured hind legs.

But she didn't like the feeling in the car when the man driving it opened the window when the soldiers reached them. There were bad vibrations and that meant that somebody was going to get hurt. Luna didn't really care if the Oz soldiers got hurt since they had taken her family hostage, but what if she and Harry got hurt? And Qays was rather nice too.

"State your names and business," the man with the big epaulettes demanded. He had yellow teeth and his voice was a bit raspy.

"We are going home from the sermon. We are from the Houses of the Holy Missionary Movement. The spiritual drowsiness of this age has allowed Satan to gradually weave his deceptive thread of antichrist globalism through every endeavor of man. Did you know that smoking is a sin?" Luna said and she called for the disregard, wrapped it around herself and Harry and the two men who had frozen on the front seats like a cloak.

Lune was well acquainted with the disregard. It came for her every time she talked of some creature she was interested in, forgetting that they could only be seen by those who believed in them or that they only lived in other-places, like this whole world was an other-place. Disregard was a cold and scratchy clothe to wear, but it protected well. Mean people had misplaced her things often, but they always found their way back to her, and no one ever tried to hurt her. Harry Potter had many nemeses because he was important. A lot of people hated Draco Malfoy because he made himself to be important. Loony Lovegood wasn't important enough that someone would have tried to hex her in the corridor or feed her to a basilisk. And just as surely as the Slytherins had turned their noses at her and snorted the man with the big epaulettes sneered at them, but his hand fell away from his gun.

"Antichrist globalism? Are the big, bad companies mean to a miss Little Red Riding Hood?" he asked. His men laughed.

"But my clothes aren't red anymore?" Luna frowned and shrugged. Maybe the man had time-overlaps too. That could be confusing. "It is not just the government, education, and economics that have been completely taken over by Antichrist forces and the Rotfang Conspiracy, but Christian churches have been infiltrated and taken over by the powers of darkness as well! Satan has been busy behind the scenes, and churches everywhere have been opening their doors to devouring usury, naughty limericks and other pornography, the books of J.R.R. Tolkien and others of that ilk. Would you like to have a pamphlet?"

"No thanks. And go away now!" the man waved his hand at them and their chauffeur drove as quickly as he could without being overly suspicious. He wasn't very good at being a harmless religious nutty, thought maybe it was because she had picked a wrong religion. But Harry was a lot better at play-pretend than he knew. Luna just _knew _that if asked, the soldiers would later swear he had been wearing lightweight summer khaki suit with conservative tie and penny loafers.

"I can't believe we just got away with that. Luna, you are great," Harry breathed when they had gotten out of hearing range. Luna felt warm, golden feeling blooming inside her chest. People never told her she was great.

"Thank you, Harry. I think you are great too," she answered. "Do you think a spatterdash would make a good frog? The kind of frogs that climb trees and are really colourful and live in Amazon?"

"Absolutely," said Harry.

* * *

It was a good thing, Harry decided, that he was used to a lot. He'd had ridiculously abusive foster family, an owl had delivered him an invitation to a super-exclusive, best-in-Europe magical school when magic shouldn't have existed and he had learned his supposedly drunken driver parents had actually bee murdered by a genocidal Dark Lord, having to deal with two return attempt via possession by the said Dark Lord in as many years. The supposed betrayer of his parents had turned out to be a loving godfather and the real betrayer had been his best mate's pet rat. Going through this all had effectively removed his shock threshold.

So he had gotten booted out of his time and universe by Hermione? He could deal. He wasn't happy by any stretch of imagination and he was going to find his way back, but he could deal. So he had fainted because of a memory overload? It wasn't like he hadn't passed out every year in Hogwarts for one reason or another. His help was required to save his alternate godfather and the family of a fellow dimension traveller? He didn't start gibbering because it was all so much. He was full ready get on with the rescuing.

This was why he was so annoyed when he realised that he and Luna were supposed to sit in a small room twiddling their thumbs while Qays and his men did the recuing.

"I can help you save Luna's parents," he protested for the umpteenth time. The patient, patronizing look on Qays' face made him want to punch him.

"I do not doubt your courage or devotion," Qays said in way that made Harry think the other boy was telling the truth. "But we are dealing with Oz and that is game best left to professionals. Besides, I think that after everything Luna has been through she needs your support now. Please remain here with her."

Harry looked at Luna. She was sitting on a small bed looking serene like an angel. Also, very non-traumatized.

"Not like you are giving me any options," he grumbled, but he sat down on a chair next to the bed. Not like he could do much else.

They were in a small motel where seven tall, darkish, intimidating-looking man resided and from what little English conversation he had caught Harry believed there were more elsewhere. And maybe Qays didn't have the looks of a Kemetian, but his men certainly had and Harry found himself wondering which colony they hailed from. Not L1 or L5, surely, but it could have been any other. Maybe not L2 either; he didn't think there were people as wealthy as Qays there if high Oz officials didn't count. And just how wealthy was Qays anyway? Questions, questions.

He and Luna had been a given a room of their own and told to wait there and be ready to leave quickly. Harry had been given a promise that once they freed Luna's father and mother he was free to go, which didn't please Harry in the slightest. Not that being kidnapped would have been a bundle of laughs, but he needed to get to Uganda and if Qays didn't give him a lift how was he going to manage?

There was a small plan forming in his brain that went against Harry's every instinct. Harry Potter had been taught that letting muggles know would lead to bad things and Harry Dursley had been taught by popular culture that catching the eye of a secret organization or terrorist cell of any kind was a terrible idea, but what if Harry just showed them his magic? If they knew what he could do surely they wouldn't just drop him off at Privet Drive? Upside: they would most likely help him save Sirius. Downside: he would be mixed up in the war up to his eyebrows after. But wouldn't he anyway just for saving Sirius? Breaking some one out of prison, even if and especially if they were a political prisoner, _was _a crime.

Qays and most of his men left, leaving only two to protect Harry and Luna, who were left alone in their room.

"Bugger," said Harry.

It was a nice room, if a bit small. It was in the top floor so it had an idyllic gambrel roof and the window gave them a good view over the neighbourhood. There was a small park nearby.

"I wish I had my magic better under control," he grumbled. It was annoying how dependent wizards were of their wands. Why couldn't just speaking the incantation be enough?

"Are you having trouble?" Luna asked. She sounded a bit surprised and Harry realized she had escaped from a military base, no small feat, and she didn't have a wand either.

"How do you do wandless magic? It oozes and flops a lot, but doesn't actually do much anything useful for me," he asked. It wasn't a good description, but surprisingly enough Luna seemed to understand what he was after.

"Magic is your friend, Harry. It wants to help you. You only need to tell it what you need it to do. And because magic doesn't have a mind of its own its borrowing yours so you need to know what you are telling it," Luna said and made a very regal-looking wave with her hand. Harry though about her words.

"So the wand isn't that important part of the spell?" he asked for confirmation. Luna nodded.

"If you think that's telling magic what to do, then that's telling magic. But if you think nursery rhymes are telling magic, then that works too."

Harry considered that. It made sense in a way, that the exact wand movement and word wasn't as important as the way the little wizards and witches trying to float a feather believed doing those right was the sure-fire way of making the feather float. He remembered he had wondered what in that wand wave was so important, why this kind of swish and not another, but he had been new to the world of magic and hadn't wanted to seem stupid by asking something obvious and for all Professor Flitwick was a teeny man, he could be pretty intimidating. Afterwards he had just forgotten the issue; that wand movement and the others just were the way things got done. He tried to remember some nursery rhyme just for curiosity's sake; it sounded so very Luna, for all he had known her less than a day. He found he couldn't.

Because no one had ever sung Harry Potter any and SNAP he was Harry Potter, hiding in a motel room far away from home.

He blinked. Describing what was wrong was hard. He was still sitting there, whole and healthy, but he felt…less, or maybe lost. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened, it was like there suddenly was less him than before and then he realised the overlap was gone. When he had though of Petunia Dursley before there had been the horrible, horsey woman that had used all her time spying on her boring, lawful neighbours, probably because her own life was so unbelievably boring and useless even that had seemed important and the smiling, doting mum who had devoted herself to him and Dudley. There had been a lag when he had to decide which one he was remembering.

He remembered he had remembered mum Petunia, but he didn't remember what he had remembered other than some vague notions. He knewhe should have Harry Dursley memories, but when he tried to grab the fleeting images they flowed like water through his fingers. And it was scary. Harry tried to shake his head, but things didn't become any clearer. His heart was beating a mile a minute and hazy panic was beginning to settle in. He hadn't wanted the Dursley memories. He had been happy for having them in a distant sort of way because pretending to be Harry Dursley without them would have been difficult. How would he have explained his sudden, total amnesia, by falling off the bed and hitting his head on the floor? But he still hadn't wanted those memories to mess up who he was.

But they had been there and they had been _safe _and now they weren't anymore and he could barely breathe. How could he have gotten so used to them? They had made him faint! Those things hadn't even happened to him, this-him! It had been only two days of being like this!

But here he was, in a strange world without a clue and he didn't even know a single nursery rhyme.

"You are being mean to your memories and now they pay you back," the voice of a girl guided him back into the motel room. Luna's eyes seemed to glow softly in the dim room. Only then Harry realized were kneeling at the floor, so close to each other their noses were almost touching, and that he had to have tried to get up. And that Luna had switched off the lights, the only light the room coming from the late afternoon sun. "Extend an arm and say you are sorry. They will come back for sure," she said.

Harry extended his arm, palm up, the best he could and closed his eyes. He felt light-headed, like in the class just before fainting, but the world wasn't spinning. _We aren't rescuing anyone hiding here, _he whispered in him mind. He pictured himself in Hogwarts' robes and another him in Smelting's uniform, arms crossed over his chest and very Dudleyish pout on his face. _I'm sorry. Please come back. _He felt stupid, but like in a dream, like bespelled, he obeyed Luna Lovegood and apologized. Harry Dursley didn't stop pouting in his head, but he grabbed Harry Potter's hand and then there was him again.

Harry Potter-Dursley. It wasn't a rush like it had been the night he had arrived or when he had fainted, but more like weight at the back of his mind. He knew they were there and when he tried to recall nursery rhymes of his childhood Who Killed Cock Robin and How Many Miles to Babylon jumped to the front of his mind.

He wasn't sure how long this uneasy truce was going to last. He was sure he didn't like how big a part Harry Dursley was of him now, but he closed his eyes and counted to ten in his mind. He could deal. He could deal and he would get back to his own world, if for no other reason then so he could yell at Hermione for doing this to him.

(Hermione had done this to him and he liked her – she was one of his best mates but he ha…) No. Not now. He didn't have shock threshold anymore, he could deal.

"We need to go save your parents," he said, and despite his newly reacquainted memories he was more Harry Potter now than he knew. Harry Potter hadn't learned to trust other people to get things done. Other people – adults – mostly hadn't gotten anything done right around him. "But why do you need me? You can use your magic," he asked.

"It isn't the same thing," Luna said and worried her lower lip between her teeth. For a little while she seemed to at miss of what to say. "Think of us as computers. I have some special software you don't, but you have more processing power so you can run more programs."

So Luna had quality and he had quantity? It was a bit, or a whole lot, humbling to think of it that way, but if they teamed up then they should have each others' weaknesses covered.

"Lay on, McDuff! We should have a few hours to practice since I don't think they are going to do anything before it gets dark. How do we get into the place they are holding your parents at?" he asked and Luna smiled. He hadn't thought of her as very pretty when he first saw her. She had nice, blonde hair and she was pretty willowy without being too thin, but she had also protuberant eyes and those plain weren't good-looking. But when she smiled like that she was a lot more beautiful than Hermione or, say, Ginny or Cho Chang or anyone. Even more beautiful than Ibie or Lai.

"I can give you directions, but I'm going to need your help since my processors can't run this program…"

* * *

Cell block seven was underground, deeper than the basement. Quatre and two of his Maguanacs were climbing down the maintenance shaft of the service elevator that led them to break into a maintenance conduit running above the corridor leading to one of several entrance points. Attacking and overwhelming the place would have been no problem for them, but the soldiers were no doubt under orders to kill the Lovegoods rather than allow them to fall into enemy hands. Also, they would be even more on edge now that Luna Lovegood had escaped them through freak occurrence of incredibly good luck – for her. For Quatre rescuing them all at the same time would have been preferable.

Getting in and out without being noticed and taking two civilians on their way back was a problem. Still, while the security of the base was good the facility was old and it had its weak points.

It was hard to hear anything down there. The machinery that surrounded them resembled eerily what Quatre imagined that a human body would look from inside, wires and pipes like nerve clusters and veins surrounding them, their small colour-coded tags the only colour in the middle of steel gray, protected with metal grills. And it all hummed softly, rattled, hissed and let out high-pitched metallic whines that hurt his ears, all multiplied by echoes. At least they didn't have to worry about being quiet. They were at the heart of the London Oz Main base, there they could have crippled much of it with a single well-placed explosive, but that had to wait until they had saved the Lovegoods since the shaft was their only way out. His men had done as much as they could with the security system from the outside, hacking into and deactivating sensor alarms in the grounds, the roof and the access tunnels and also giving them override to the doors. They were ready to stage a distraction and extraction, if need be.

At the end of the conduit they reached an access panel, a metal grating that shielded them from casual view. And people rarely looked up, even if they were purposefully looking for something. It was ingrained into humans to look behind things and under things, but anything above their eye level went easily ignored. And the people working blissfully ignorant under them didn't look up even once.

Quatre reached for Abdul's hand in the darkness, his fingers flicker a message on his wrist Abdul would pass on. There were five guards under them and they didn't have a choice with them. Abdul's fingers tapped an acknowledgement on his forearm and Quatre took a deep breath, arming his mind as he quietly screwed his silencer on. He closed his eyes and remembered.

He had allowed himself be taken hostage when the Maguanacs had commandeered MO-III intent on freeing the anti-Alliance political prisoners forced to labour for the Alliance. He had saved Rashid from Yuda, helped to hold off the Alliance's mobile suits, enabling the Maguanacs to get to Earth safely, because there he had a made a decision that had deepened the rift between him and his father to the size of Grand Canyon. Because while the peaceful solution should always be the first option, the whole Earth Sphere had long since moved past that point. Peaceful solutions should always be the first option, but people were entitled to defend their lives and homes. He remembered the red-hazed pain of the bullet as it had gone through his arm, the pounding of his heart and the taste of iron in his mouth.

A guard wandered beneath the maintenance hatch. Quatre dropped down and the number of people he had killed face-to-face entered double digits.

The corridor was very bright after the darkness of the maintenance shaft. Quatre led his men to the area that couldn't be reached through it, making sure to not step on a puddle of blood, almost cheerily red in colour and looking very much out of place in a situation like that. He remembered thinking that first time, when he had seen his own blood, that in movies it looked a lot darker.

"How are you, commander?" Ahmed asked. He had a thin line of blood under his fingernails.

"No injuries," Quatre answered shortly. That was close enough to what had been asked. Those had been enemies.

They sealed the doors to the section they were in; there was only one way from the cell block into the shaft and it wouldn't do to be trapped down there. They almost made it to the cell block seven before Quatre's communicator beeped a code, informing him that somewhere someone had discovered the security had been compromised and activated the alarm. No alarm was sounded where they were, no blinking lights or thundering footsteps signalled as their override protocols and viruses started going into action. The base now knew there were people in, but what they didn't know was that they were extremely vulnerable outside, on the ground level, around the perimeter. Without further ado Quatre paged Rashid, not even pausing for a step and they broke into a run. The time for stealth was over now and it was time to rely on speed and strength. They were close enough to complete the mission and get out of the base with the Lovegoods alive.

As he entered his override code in the lock for the cell block, the first shouts sounded behind their backs. There shouldn't have been anyone there, but he heard the thump and rattle of something metallic chiming in his ears. The door didn't open a moment too soon as the first bullet followed only a second later, hitting the door that was already closing behind them. The doors weren't merely fire-doors, they were explosion-proof and there was no way shooting at them was going to even dent them unless one of the soldiers happened to have a portable beam cannon.

"They followed us through the shaft," he said and Ahmed cursed, only to be outdone a second later by Mirrikh and Mohammed. And the inevitable conclusion was daunting. "This was a trap." Because there was no way the soldiers could have climbed that quickly down the shaft. And Quatre imagined he could hear the small cylinder rolling on the floor behind the door, steel gray, the sound it made as it hit the ground hidden in the melee. Small, innocent-looking thing easily overlooked. It was their insurance.

High pressurised nerve gas. It was non-lethal and reversible, merely causing five to six hours of paralytic coma. A signal from Quatre's communicator would open the cylinder.

"The override will hold them off for a while," Quatre said. Thirty minutes, in fact, if the ozzies here were at the top of their game, but they didn't have that much time to waste as they needed to be able to fight their way back through the maintenance shaft until they at least got to the basement level.

Outside, Rashid Kurama drove the car he had commandeered from a patrol of off-duty soldiers like a madman to the gates of the London OZ Main base and led a dozen blood-soaked, uniform-clad figures to the faces of shocked gate guards. Great Britain was considered a cushy assignment among the ozzies, a prosperous and stable country that hadn't begotten much in the way of anti-Alliance political opposition, let alone resistance groups. No one expected trouble in Great Britain. This particular base seemed to expect trouble considering the number of guards they had positioned around the perimeter, but as all four that had been standing at the gates ran towards them, abandoning their posts, and the guards posted nearby drifted towards them as well, Rashid had to hide a smile. Expectation of trouble didn't make up for being totally unprepared to deal with it. The guard who ran to them first, a tall, wiry man with hair so pale it was almost colourless, looked on in horror as he witnessed the extent of their injuries.

"What's going on here?" he asked with a startled breath.

"A terrorist attack" one of the blood soaked figures replied through teeth clinched as if in pain, "more on the way." He was helping another "soldier", Auda, stand. Auda remained silent. Often when a person chose to not speak people would mistake them for being unable to speak.

"Get your medical orderlies here, my men are injured and need help," Rashid commanded as they hobbled towards the entry to the base.

"Yes of course" the man agreed running back towards the gate, "it will only be a moment." In the army, people didn't tend to question orders barked at them. The man might have wondered where these soldiers were from that he didn't recognize a face among them or why they had parked the car so far from the gate, forcing the guards to leave their post. But all he saw was muted green uniforms splashed in red and all he heard was a tone used to commanding respect. He didn't hesitate at all. Guards from all over the perimeter of the base that had been like an anthill someone had poked with a stick left their posts, gravitating towards his men, mingling with them, touching and leaving themselves wide open. No post was left completely unmanned, but several required more than one man and combined with the hacking job done earlier this left the perimeter security with more holes than Swizz cheese.

Moments later they were in and the suddenly healthy patients drew their guns. There were screams, but only for a short while, and now their stolen uniforms were wet with real blood, none of it their own. The battle, if one could call it that, was over in a short time, with the Maguanacs proving once again that quality and surprise will overcome quantity in most conflicts.

"I want C-building cleared, keep the initiative and don't give them a chance to kill any prisoners there might be, but first priority is the extraction of commander Winner," he commanded, lifting the mic hidden in his watch to his mouth, "Where are my reinforcements, I need reinforcements here now!" Only seconds later another army van drove to the base, this time right through the gate into the middle of the courtyard, and the rest of his men sans those left to protect Lovegood and Potter attacked.

Rashid would rather have assaulted the place in Mobile Suits, but as long as Quatre was inside that was out of question. He adored his diminutive commander, they all did, and if master Quatre was harmed at all there would be several hells to pay.

Inside, a flash of fear and hate was the only warning Quatre got before a bullet hit the wall just beside where his head had been a second ago and another drove a muted scream from Mirrikh. Three guns fire as one and the Oz soldier, a very young-looking red-haired woman who had just happened to be on the wrong side of the door and bold, or stupid, enough to try and take them on, was thrown back against the wall from the force of two bullets hitting straight to the centre of her mass. And she was down, but so was Mirrikh who was holding his left shoulder. Quatre didn't even dare hope it hadn't shattered the bone as he knelt down next to the man who was now pale as a sheet under his tan, hunched over on the cold floor.

"Go free the Lovegoods," he ordered Abdul as he applied pressure to the wound, staining his fingers in red. He was reaching towards his first aid kit when the sudden _feeling_ of something happening, very _emotive_ someone caught his attention, frustratingly vague, but painfully strong. There shouldn't have been a way for him to feel this if the person wasn't standing right beside him; he wasn't a clairvoyant. And then everything happened almost too quickly for him to react to.

There was a literal **crack, **a sound that **burned **against his mind with intensity and fear and smugness and determination_._ If he remembered the blueprints right the room they had entered had once been a monitoring hall and while all monitors had been removed there was still a large conference table left bolted into the floor, with a few empty holes which Quatre assumed were for portable computer hook-ups. On that table before them now stood Harry Dursley and Luna Lovegood, the former still in his very maroon and orange school uniform and the latter in non-descript dark blue shirt and sweatpants, hands intertwined in embrace. The thought "friendly" entered only by a fraction of a second his brain before he fired the gun already aimed at them, closely followed by "What the hell?"

* * *

They had practiced in the park Harry had seen from the window. They had been given a room of their own and the door had been closed, but Harry didn't doubt the two men, he was almost sure their names were Usman Asiffar and Waheed something, were keeping an ear on their charges as well as an eye on their surroundings. He didn't want them getting interested in the random reciting of nursery rhymes, hissing and other potential oddities and opening the door at wrong moment, spoiling their rescue operation.

Luna had done something that had allowed them to climb through the window unnoticed. He didn't know what it was, Luna didn't even say a word, but she said it was all right and Harry had opened the window and climbed down first. He was pretty good at climbing up and down things like devil snare traps and secret passageways to secret chambers, but he had never learned to do so without sound and this new body was weaker than the one he had used to have, taller probably thanks to more food, but weaker thanks to lack of labour. The eave gutter made a lot of noise, but no one seemed to hear anything.

They had sprinted over the street and slipped into the park between the bars of the walls surrounding it, not bothering to go look for a gate. It was exiting in a good way, the feeling they were doing something they had to hide from the adults and getting away with it, and as they crawled under a birch tree that had been cut so its branches cascaded towards the earth like a waterfall, leaving there a small secure pocket, he was happy that Luna was there with him. Sure, he might have preferred someone he had actually known before, Ron would have been best and Neville close second, but Luna was nice. But the feeling of levity disappeared soon. In the budding green, fresh shadows, kneeling on dirt, Harry Dursley reasserted himself and he wasn't feeling co-operative.

It was the apparating. Or, as that stubborn part of his mind insisted, teleportation. The transfer of matter from place A to place E without going through places B, C and D first. And it plain wasn't possible. The need of recording a human's entire atomic structure with enough accuracy and the kind of computer needed to handle that and the ethical issues of destroying a human in one place and recreating a copy elsewhere and would that provide a sufficient experience of existential continuity and the Heisenberg uncertainty principle… Harry's head was hurting. And Luna had said that believing it would work was the most important part.

"I'm probably going to end up with magical schizophrenia," he grumbled and hit the dirt. It didn't mind.

"It doesn't make a copy," Luna said. "Apparating just moves you."

"How is that even supposed to work?" Harry asked. Luna made a vague wave with her hand that was probably supposed to emulate using a wand.

"Magic," she said. And Harry had to talk himself into believing that yes, magic operated under an entirely different set of rules. He was afraid he spoke out loud at moments, but luckily Luna wasn't giving him any funny looks when he finally thought that he could give it a try.

The sun was setting and they needed to hurry now. And then he run into a new roadblock: chanting nursery rhymes did nothing for him, except made him feel silly. How many miles to Babylon, he tried. Three-score and ten. Can I get there by candle-light? Yes, there and back again. But he wasn't getting anywhere. In the end it was Dudley, Harry Potter's Dudley, who gave him the keys to the problem. He remembered how he had found himself on the roof once when Dudley and his gang had been chasing him, without any recollection of how he had gotten there, after having wished he could get somewhere Dudley couldn't reach him in.

"Dudley!" he said, remembering well the feeling of helplessness and the resentment and the joy of getting away, at least until he was punished for being a freak again… And he found himself sitting on the tree he had hidden under, uncomfortably sandwiched between two branches way too close to one another.

"Potter School of Whatever Works," he mumbled as he manoeuvred himself down to a cheering Luna. It was some kind of popular culture reference though he wasn't quite sure what it was referencing to.

There is a reason apparating wasn't practised a lot more often as it was. Harry didn't know the limits, being much too young to get himself an apparating licence, but a person had to know where he was going. There had to be a picture of the place in their mind and so people generally only used it to go to places where they had already been before. What most people didn't know, but Harry managed to figure out by accident, was that having an anchor worked too. It was possible to apparate to a place where someone you knew was. But Harry didn't know Luna's parents, hadn't ever even seen a picture of them, and so he learned something no one else ever had.

As long as someone you knew where someone they knew was, you could apparate there as long as you took them with you. Potter School of Whatever Works.

And that was what led to him and Luna standing in a dim room, on a table and being held at gunpoint by Qays and one of his men. The other was bleeding on the floor and there was a brief flash (Ginny, red, tangled hair, so cold on the floor and cold, mocking voice) of the last time he had seen someone seriously injured.

"What the hell?" asked Qays. His eyes were so wide he was beginning to remind Harry of a Disney animal – as long as he overlooked the grim mouth under those eyes. And the gun.

A small knot of anxiety Harry hadn't even been aware had been there unravelled in his stomach. Just like that the pressure of making a decision was lifted from his shoulders; there was no way he could just explain this away. He jumped down to the floor and rubbed his head, feeling kind of sheepish. He hadn't really planned getting caught at disobeying while still, well, in the process of disobeying. It was always better if you had results you could show.

"Apparating. That is, uh, teleportation," he answered. And Luna left him to explain it alone, running towards one of the doors, not marked any different from the other two. She banged it with her fists.

"Dad, mum! Can you hear me?" she shouted.

Qays' head turned like in a tennis match between him and Luna, him and Luna. The man still standing, Ahmed, kept looking at him and Qays, the only noise there was the silent banging from the door behind Qays' back and Luna's cries for her parents. Then Qays dropped his gaze to the man whose bleeding he was trying to stop and the line of his mouth thinned and he nodded to himself.

"Ahmed, free the Lovegoods. Harry, can you teleport us out of here?" he asked. Harry nodded and felt his lips twitching into a smile for all it was a serious situation. Finally he was beginning to get it right! He saved Luna's mum and dad!

"All right. When the Lovegoods arrive please teleport us out of here. What kind of tech do you use?" Qays' voice was nice enough, but somehow Harry could picture himself tied to a kitchen chair at the end of the question. And that raised utterly improper hilarity bubbling in his chest. Qays' eyebrows went up a notch and that made a snort force its way through his nose.

"No tech, it's a power I have," he said because he didn't want to have the "magic is real" conversation right there. Qays opened his mouth, but Luna's joyful, very loud – and strangely musical – squeal and a second later a huge, thundering boom that made the concrete under their feet vibrate interrupted him. And now Harry was beginning to fear the place might come down around them. He tried to force his racing heart to slow down and took several, deep gulps of air; it even smelled different underground, kind of stale and a lot like chemicals.

Luna, he thought. Luna's mum and dad. Qays and his men. He concentrated with all his might, pictured Mathilda Sisulu and the yard of his old school, the trashcans and how they had smelled like wet coffee grounds. He was going to get this right.

"Dudley!" he shouted, pushing every ounce of strength in him into transporting them all to safety. Only, he couldn't have known how manyof Qays' men there were.

It had been bad the first go-around, like being forced through a very tight rubber tube. Now many, many hands grabbed him, tearing him everywhere at once, then his insides felt like someone had compressed them into a tiny ball like a snitch and bloated them like Aunt Marge at the same time. Outside in, inside out, Harry felt like throwing up and for a horrible, disquieting moment something _slipped_. But this was Luna and Luna was her friend and parents were important. He grounded his teeth together, somehow, even though he wasn't sure he had teeth at the moment, and then there was floor under his feet and it fell up to meet him.

Terrible, searing headache, exploded in his head, making dazzling zigzag lines dance in his eyes and all the voices were so loud, painfully loud. He was sweating like a pig and he thought he might throw up. Slowly it dawned to him that there were lot of voices, lots of legs, and then hands grabbed him and liften him from the floor. And instantly there was blessed silence. Harry smiled at Qays' blurry face gratefully even as vertigo took him, making him close his eyes and wish someone was merciful enough to give him something a lot stronger than aspirin.

"Hurt," he managed to croak. How come switching universes had hurt less than this?

"Harry is suffering from magical exhaustion. He needs sleep and a lot of food when he wakes up," Luna voice drifted to him as the darkness behind his eyelids seemed to deepen. He wondered briefly just what kind of explanation Luna would give them all and how scary thought that was and then the pain went away along with his thoughts.

* * *

AN: In case someone hasn't noticed, I love writing Luna. I had no idea I would have this much fun with her before I started.

So why no splinching? Harry is a complete novice after all. Well, splinching occurs when a person has insufficient determination to reach their goal, causing certain body parts to fail to arrive at the destination with them. Harry was plenty determined here. And I know it's Saotome School of **Anything Goes**. Harry doesn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter IV: ****All Come Together**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

Duo was feeling a lot drier and a lot better now, sitting next to Kabiito who was playing cards with Kadokechi and Bakwa, his still-steaming lunch on the table. Mrs. Tesfaye, a cook, widow and guerilla den mother had taken pity on his drippy, hungry form and made him private lunch after hours. It was a lunch made with love with some stew made of unidentified vegetables he didn't mind artistically arranged in a plastic box, molasses-candied sweet potatoes cut like flowers in another and… a heart-shaped falafel that had a smaller heart drawn onto it with red, spicy sauce. And dark brown bread with a smiley-face drawn on it with butter.

He looked at his lunch and wondered if maybe it was too pretty to eat. Nah. It wasn't bugs and he was hungry.

Bakwa clicked her tongue at the visiting Gundam guerilla. She had a dog tag polished to shine hanging from a chain around her neck and Duo could see a dim, distorted reflection of straight flush in her hands. An amateurish mistake.

"I see you have joined the dark side, Duo," she murmured with slight disgust before turning to Kabiito and adding, "You seem to have gotten a comrade in utensils." The fourth revolutionary division sergeant was plainly disgusted with her better-fed companions. It wasn't that Bakwa couldn't cook herself. But if everyone who wanted to eat their own food could have it, there would be chaos in the kitchens. It wasn't like she would have had the time anyway and Mrs. Tesfaye couldn't stand her. Mrs. Tesfaye liked good manners and Bakwa's personality was as abrasive as sandpaper, but soft-spoken Kabiito and now ever-charming Duo had wormed their way into her good graces. And those good graces were good for a whole lot.

"Real men eat commissary food, ain't that right, Kadokechi? The soft ones that don't get their hands dirty take the pampering," she asked. The man, who looked kind of pitiful and in pain, nodded enthusiastically. Poor man would have agreed if she said sky was green, but Bakwa's heart was very much taken already.

"Damn straight," he said. Duo smirked and dug in with relish.

"Dark side gets better benefits," he said. Revenge, sweet revenge. Take that, ruthless taskmaster-harpy!

With his stomach full, exhaustion washed quickly over him. The Kampala time zone was plus two hours to the London time zone and the night was black like someone had draped a sack over Duo's head; all windows and doors were covered with heavy blackout curtains, cardboard or even paint. Small flashlights were allowed, but those didn't give much light. This was most likely why Kadokechi had sprained his ankle; people were injured tripping up, falling down steps, or bumping into things all the time after sunset. But they were only going to be safe as long as Oz didn't learn where their headquarters were so no one complained.

He was on his way to the barracks he had been assigned to when his mobile phone vibrated. He opened it and saw there was one video sent to him. The lighting was terrible, in parts dark, in parts too-bright flashlights caused glare where the light hit the lens and obscured part of the shot, but there were the three Lovegoods, waving to the camera with Sandrock's leg behind them.

"About time, too. Good job, Quat," he said and turned around, running to the hangers as fast as he dared in the light the penlight gave him.

He had a plan, a back-up plan and two back-ups for the back-up. Or rather, he had a plan to get inside and out and a back-up which Calla Lovegood's being able to move somewhat freely through the base depended on. The best-case scenario: he could get her out through the garage. He'd had ample time to forge an ID card for her as well as himself, with a picture of her with dark hair and glasses. He was carrying a wig and those glasses in his backpack. The worst-case scenario: sewers. Ew. Another plan was to climb into the maintenance section sandwiched between the inner and outer wall of the north side, next to the abandoned reactor-system, and let people believe they had already gotten out. It had been abandoned in a renovation seven years ago and if they got in there it would only be a waiting game until the high alert was aborted. The plan of last resort was to send a signal to Deathscythe on auto to have it come and curb stomp the place to the ground.

He alerted the air control and climbed into his lady, switching stealth on from the get-go. When the net had retracted just enough over the airport – if it could be called that – he rose to the sky and sent his all clear.

/They know?/ he sent Quatre a message. /How long?/ These messages they couldn't send through the satellites; too risky. But he figured Quatre had to be on his way over the sea and with both of them that high there was no difficulties.

/Unclear. Anything from five hours to half an hour./

Duo stared at the second message and cursed. If it had been five hours the base would be locked up tighter and guarded better than Kushrenada's aroma therapy cupboard. What had Quatre been doing to waste time like that, anyway?

/Luna Lovegood escaped on her own first./ Quatre anticipated his question. How she had done it was curious, but didn't influence Duo's situation any. The going had gotten tough now.

"I guess curb stomping is the way to go then, lady," he told Deathscythe. "But we gotta be careful where we stomp." And the tough would get going. Only a brain-dead commander wouldn't have reported Luna's escape. Deathscythe purred under his hands like a tiger kitten. Many who saw a picture of a Gundam thought them clumsy to fly and Duo had to admit they looked about as aerodynamic as bricks. Few who saw him fly his Gundam lived to tell the tale, but those tales were very impressive. She was delicate, answering to his lightest touch and there were times when he could have sworn he felt it when she extended a limb or shifted just so, felt the resistance melt away from under the beam scythe.

"Not that I have anything against curb stomping with you. I just hope Lovegood has the data well and ready coz this waltz ain't stopping for downloading."

This plan wasn't something he would have attempted had there been enemy mobile suits situated in the Entebbe base. But the closest were in the Lake Victoria base. Seven to ten minutes to launch at tops, then fifteen minutes to arrive. He had enough time to pull this by this seat of the pants plan. He landed, programmed Deathscythe to fight on auto until he sent it the override codes and slid to the ground. This wasn't recommended. The procedure was fiendishly hard to initiate, taking twenty four command strings. But he could do it, and Calla Lovegood was too irreplaceable to just kill when Deathscythe, cloaked till the last second, descended upon the base. And in the midst of fire and chaos, Duo sprinted in. His lady was wreaking havoc, he was getting in to get the other lady out.

The base rumbled and shook like it would come down on him at any moment, but Duo had been careful giving his instructions. His lady was concentrating on outer defences and communications center, leaving him clear shot at getting to the cell block directly under the officers' mess hall. It was empty – at this time of night it would have been empty even without his attack – and he ran to the kitchen and took the lift to the basement. He gritted his teeth as he did so – getting inside a lift when power might go out any time was a risk – but it would have been a bigger risk to climb down the shaft. Anyone in the basement could decide to escape this way and crush him.

His decision had been a wise one. He had his gun in hand, just in case, and when he stepped out of the lift into a large, surprisingly chilly, dim room he saw a shadow and movement from the corner of his eye just in time.

There wasn't time to shoot so Duo hit the floor instead, flinching as a piece of the wall behind him exploded with a wash of burning air. Plaster dust rained down from the ceiling, dousing him until he thought he might resemble the pint-sized Duo that had climbed onto Sister Helen's kitchen table and stumbled into a sack of flour. No time to waste, Duo shot the man without rising first and then sprinted by him even before he hit the ground. He could see a distant rush of hazy-golden flames from the open door; the lift was the only way out of here now – only way out if you were going up. Not the only way out of the cell block, though. There shouldn't have been a way from the maintenance and garage floor to the cell block floor at all, but then things didn't always follow the regulations.

It was both easier and harder than what he had thought. Easier because he didn't have to care about raising alarms anymore; there wasn't much he could do to make the place more alarmed. Harder because there were trigger-happy people running everywhere and they weren't asking before shooting. He fought his way to the cell blocks. In the end, overriding the electronic devices keeping the area sealed was even depressingly easy. Duo liked to flex his fingers and feel the work – that was why he preferred the old-fashioned locks. Not because they were supposedly easier; a well made mechanical lock could be a devil to open whereas with the right gadget, all you needed to do to an electrical one was to push a button.

The woman sitting on the bed, running her hand through her gay hair when the door slid open, looked positively ancient. There were wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deep as canyons on a map and her hands were gnarled like a witch's. But her blue eyes were unnerving – distant and dreamy, yet Duo felt like they could see all the way to the bottom of his soul.

"Mrs. Calla Lovegood, I presume? The Shinigami has come for you." And he threw her the cell phone, the video running. He was relieved when those eyes left his face.

* * *

Mathilda Sisula was to Southern Africa as the first Heero Yuy was to the colonies, with less pacifism and pretty much same results. She had been a young, idealistic politician from Uganda who had revolutionized the political field of South Africa Federation. She had led a citizens' rights movement that had gained support from the left and right wings equally. She had promoted a Health Care Reform, the main points of which had been extending health insurance coverage, addressing insurance company abuses and reducing the deficit, which had gone through. She had intended to run for president. She had been a charismatic leader and the way people spoke of her, one might have thought she was the second coming of a Messiah of your choice.

She had inspired people of other countries from other continents to fly over and do voluntary work for the poor of her Federation. After the term of service had been over, these people had left thoroughly converted, founding and joining local parties in their countries. A few had stayed, the most famous among them a disciple of hers named Sirius Black.

Several cartoon from that time had represented her as an immunodeficiency virus cackling madly while doctors, political leaders of several countries, were wringing their hands. One of the pictures had even been bold enough to include Treize Kushrenada.

In the end, all this overflowing glory and success had been her undoing. The membership of the Romefeller Foundation was secretive, but it was a known fact that it consisted of aristocrats and royalties across Europe and possibly the world. The activities of the Foundation might not have been explicitly known to the world at large, but just as even a blind chicken can find a grain the nuts called conspiracy theorists had found out the truth. The results of the Foundation's activities were recorded throughout history. It had secretly manipulated world affairs for centuries. These people were backing up the United Earth Sphere Alliance and against these people Mathilda Sisulu had pitted herself.

Also, the Most Noble and Ancient House of Blacks had a seat in the Foundation's government and they were less than happy with their defector from decadence who could spread dangerous information. No proof, true, but information people could use as a starting point to gather proof.

But decisions made in anger are never the best ones. Rather than use the fact that deep inside people are all too ready to believe no one can really be _that perfect, _the Alliance had descended on Sisulu and her Unified Reform Party like the wrath of God, sentenced her to death under flimsy pretense of corruption and high treason and imprisoned her brother Matthew and the traitorous Black. They realized the error they had made soon enough; on one night, the party leader and the unofficial religious authority of the mish-mash Christian-Muslim-Abayudaya religion her followers practiced became their martyr, their Messiah nailed to a cross and stoned to death.

So Sirius Black and Matthew Sisulu did their time in Entebbe prison while Uganda burned around them and the rest of the Federation was moving restlessly. This didn't make the big headlines outside Africa because it had been going on too long. Professor this or politician that calls the Uganda situation a civil war, the Alliance government calls it exaggerating, what else is new? Look, shiny Gundams! So cool!

But now the Gundams had landed on Uganda and along with them had come a boy dead set on rescuing Sirius Black, by hook or by crook. The conflict Romefeller Foundation would have preferred no one paid more than cursory attention to was about to make headlines once again.

* * *

When Harry woke up his head was hurting and he was ravenous. He groaned and wondered how long until his alarm clock would sound and if it would pay to try and fall asleep again. He wondered if the nurse would give him day off or at least some painkillers. He wondered… As his mind cleared a bit more Harry wondered where he was. The ceiling above him was made of unpainted wood and when he turned his head, making silvery flashes dance in his eyes, he saw that the walls were that same wood, the room bare from all but the bare necessities: a small table with a breakfast tray, a faded blue enamel bowl and a small towel and a chair next to it.

He wasn't in his room at Smeltings, it was way too bright and hot to be early in the morning and his head was hurting so what had happened to him. The last thing he could remember was when he had shown Qays around and Luna had come…

It all came back to him, crashed over his poor brain as one, giant wave; Qays was a colony's agent – he had led a whole militia, Luna's parents in the cellar of a military base and how he had apparated them all out of there. His head was hurting, but compared to the pain he had been in last night – at least he assumed it had been the last night – this was nothing. Harry sat up and groaned, noticing that he had been stripped from his uniform and dressed in pyjama pants and that on the chair was a pile of clothes that weren't his. They were plain and faded, but whole and most importantly _not _his stupid-looking uniform. For a while he was tempted to just lie back and try to fall asleep again, but he was still ravenous and he had no idea where he was or where Luna was, for that matter. And he was no stranger to pain. During his first year when the unholy duo had tried to fry his brain, it had felt pretty much like this. In fact, and during his second year he'd had all the bones in his hand painfully regrown and almost gotten killed by a thirty-something foot basilisk.

So he rose up and sat on the hard chair, picking up a bowl of some kind of porridge from the tray. It was cold and looked unappetizing, but it was pure Heaven when it slid down his throat. Harry wondered if it was maybe some kind of black magic porridge to manage that, and if he should summon up the energy to care, but decided against it. His only complaint was that there was so little of it. He licked the bowl and spoon clean, washed and dressed quickly to go search for more food. He would have preferred a shower to a sponge bath, but the Potter side of him wasn't stranger to that either.

After having washed his face there was nothing to do in the room anymore so he tried the door carefully. It opened, much to his relief. Harry wasn't sure – what with the pounding behind his eyes – that he was up to an Alohomora yet, even if he could come up with a way to do it.

There was a short corridor and another door at its other end, a few closed doors along the way, but Harry had barely taken two steps when the door at the other end slammed open. The sound made him wince, but the sight of Luna running towards him made him smile.

"Harry! Thank you for saving my mum and dad!" she shouted and threw herself at him, hugging him for all she was worth. She was still dressed in the non-descript dark clothes Qays had gotten her, but she had also tied a red and orange sash full of yellow ray print around her waist.

"Not like I did it all alone. I couldn't have done it at all if you hadn't taught me to use wandless magic," he protested. "And Qays helped too." He had. It had been kind of unnecessary, but that hadn't been the boy's fault.

"His friend saved my grandmum," Luna continued happily. Harry hadn't even known her grandmum had needed saving too, but he was happy that had gone well.

"That's great! Uh, could you tell me where we are?" he asked. The air was hot and kind of humid and smelled of wet ground and something exotic and sweet even though they were inside, so he didn't think it was anywhere near England.

"We are in Uganda," answered the voice of Qays. When Harry lifted his face he saw him standing behind Luna. He was smiling, but there was kind of odd look on his face, like there was something he was looking for and didn't find. But he didn't pay much attention to that.

"We are in Uganda? That's brilliant!" he rejoiced. He had gotten to the country they were holding Sirius in without even asking! He didn't even need anyone's help now if everyone was too busy with the war, just a lift to Entebbe and he could save Sirius himself.

"You are happy? I would have expected you would demand to be taken back, especially since we haven't had enough time to contact your family yet." Qays was frowning now. It kind of made Harry want to hug him, but it also made him feel like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Suffering from mixed signals, Harry looked at Luna instead.

"There is someone I need to save too and he is here in Uganda. I was worrying how I would get here," he explained to her. She bobbed her head, her face serious. He had a feeling she had known already.

"I'm going to help you too," she promised solemnly. Harry hadn't really doubted that. She wasn't the kind to abandon someone who had just helped her.

"Who is this person you are talking about? And why are they in need of rescue?" Harry was surprised that Qays hadn't started interrogating him about his mystical teleporting abilities, but then again, he had probably asked Luna first. That thought made Harry somewhat nervous. Sure, Luna couldn't have told anything too preposterous, like the whole and full truth, since Qays didn't look like he thought she was mad as a hatter, but Harry hoped he knew what Luna had said. He wondered if he would have a chance to ask her before Qays started questioning him; it wouldn't do to tell two different stories.

"He is Sirius Black and he is a political prisoner here. He is my godfather." When Harry answered it was automatic. He was too worried about Qays and Luna and Qays talking with Luna to realize what kind of conversational bomb he must have dropped before he saw Qays' eyes go wide and his jaw drop open, just a little.

"Sirius Black is your godfather?" Qays asked. Last time everybody had been scared shitless by Sirius, but Harry guessed that in the rebel circles this would be like knowing Elton John, second only to knowing a Gundam pilot or Sisulu herself. He only hoped this Sirius really was his godfather or otherwise it would be embarrassing like hell. He scratched the back of his neck, hoping it wasn't quite so hot and humid there. It was beginning to remind him of the greenhouse.

"Yeah. Um, Qays? I don't necessarily need help at the rescuing, but I need to get to Entebbe. And a few days of rest first cause my head is hurting when I even think of doing anything magical." He didn't want to be needy. No one liked needy people.

"His name isn't actually Qays Bitar, but Quatre Winner," Luna said. And it made sense he wouldn't have told them his real name right away, there was no reason to feel this ridiculously hurt. Especially since it was that name…

"Quatre Winner?" That name rang several bells, especially if the colonies were also mentioned, but, but. "Like the Winner Corporation? But I thought you were all pacifists?" L4 was the only colony not officially-like in the war since Winner held so much influence there and he said no. Repeatedly and loudly every time someone suggested they should stop the pretence and do it anyway.

"I have come to disagree with my father on several matters – our right to defend ourselves being one of them," Quatre answered dryly.

Harry could understand that. Even Harry Dursley had disagreed with his parents at times about the things Ibie liked to talk about, even though those had been lazy, someone-should-do-something kind of disagreements, but he still had a hard time replacing the picture he had of the name Winner in his head with the one Qays – no, Quatre – presented standing there, in immaculate, stylish clothes, but oil caked under his fingernails and a gun holster at his waist. It was the Winner daughters that were the hot topic of celebrity gossip magazines. They were pretty good girls for socialites, no surprise pregnancies or messy divorces or drugs or sex videos leaked to the net. But there was always an article of _this one's _new apartment and how stylish it was or _that one's _new clothing line and how _those_ had entered a fashionable university or high school. The Winners were the stuff of magazines printed on shiny paper, too good and glamorous to be true, and there was an unbelievable number of them.

What would the elder Winner be thinking of this, he wondered. Harry had a hard time thinking of Qays as a Winner – Merlin, he had a hard time thinking of him as Quatre! But then again, he wasn't what Quatre had thought him to be either, though in his case it had been less deception and more "didn't bare my soul during the first ten minutes."

"I can understand that. My family doesn't much care either way," he commiserated. "Except for the embargo."

"But they named Sirius Black your godfather?" Quatre asked. Then he winced and opened his mouth, but Harry answered anyway.

"Not mum Petunia and dad Vernon. My real mum was Petunia's sister and when she and dad died my aunt and uncle adopted me." Yeah, Qays had asked that already, but it had been long who knew how many hours and it had been an unimportant detail to the boy.

Harry wondered how Qa—Quatre could be very god liar with face that expressive. Actually his whole body seemed to broadcast his feelings. But then, he hadn't been that expressive in the base in London. What had Luna told him anyway?

Quatre told him they would need to talk about Sirius. It wasn't a promise, but Harry had a feeling he was going to say yes if only because he could help a lot in the war. They walked out of the small building into the bright midday in the middle of a jungle. Harry was momentarily distracted by everything these people – because there were a whole lot of people – had done to remain hidden, beginning with real shrubs growing on some flat roofs, smart camouflage net that had to have cost more than the rest of the facility over the small airport, and trees with wide foliage growing around buildings to hide them from the above, casting them under green shadows. There were strange sounds everywhere around them, big machinery and birds and something Harry thought might have been apes in the jungle. This isn't Kansas anymore, Toto, he thought, delighted. Then he was distracted by Luna's mum and dad, Quilla and Xenophilius Lovegood, both pale and blond like their daughter, who thanked him a lot, but seemed kind of nervous also and didn't ask how he knew their daughter. Again a trace of worry edged into Harry's mind, but with Quatre there, he couldn't ask. And so he offered his help in the war instead. He did owe it for their help with Sirius; even if they had done nothing else, they had gotten him to Uganda.

That offer wasn't received as he had thought it would be.

"Harry, I wouldn't imagine asking that of you! It speaks well of you that you are willing to help, but please keep in mind that you are only thirteen. You are thirteen, right?" Harry wasn't sure why Qays – not Qays, Quatre – would think he wasn't thirteen. He was taller now than he had been, but not that tall.

"Yes, but thirteen isn't that much younger than fifteen, you know?" He wasn't a child. He could take care of himself and he had the scars to prove it.

"It is still younger. Besides, weren't you angry at my behalf when you realized I am a soldier?" Quatre tilted his head to the side in a way that reminded Harry of a bird of some sort. They were speaking to each other, but Harry was beginning to wonder if they were having the same conversation at all.

"Yes, of course. That's human rights abuse. It's just plain wrong." Something sharp and angry twisted at Harry's stomach when he remembered the history lessons of Sweet Water War and the Chinese Boy and Girl Guards, EU's Initiative Program, kids with guns on their shoulder. But something was amiss here. He frowned, wondered what it was.

"But you would do that?" Now Quatre sounded baffled. But again, while his eyes were big and nice his mouth was beginning to thin. Harry was beginning to think, that maybe he was better at lying than he had though if he could lie with his eyes like that. Or with his mouth, but in either case Harry was suffering from mixed signals.

"That's a different thing?" He wasn't so sure anymore. Sure, nobody was forcing him to do a thing here, but shouldn't responsible adults still do something? Of course he wouldn't let that stop him, but they should make an attempt. But his responsible adults were on a different continent altogether.

"How is it different?" Quatre asked. Harry had hoped he hadn't asked that.

"It… it just… actually I have no idea. But it is." Harry was afraid that didn't make for the most convincing argument ever. So he talked to Quatre and Quatre talked to him, but they failed at talking with each other.

* * *

There were two youngsters playing walae in the dirt a little way from the bench Quatre and Duo were sitting on. There was a simple wooden game board with six holes dug out on each side and four stones in each hole. The players sat opposite each other, picked up the stones from one of the holes and put them one by one in each of the other holes around the board in order. Not quite adults yet, probably children of guerrillas, the boys were working for Mrs. Tesfaye in the kitchen. Duo had said he was pretty sure they didn't speak English, but just in case they were speaking L2 English, a Creole mixed with Spanish and Swedish so it resembled Standard English very little.

Quatre wanted to help Harry rescue his godfather and not only because he owed it for the help the British boy, whose acceptance of getting basically kidnapped maybe wasn't so surprising all things considered, had given to him in London. Not only because he might have lost men if Harry hadn't teleported them out of the base. And not only because the Lovegoods' lives had been at very real risk at that point.

"Sirius Black could take care of him, be his guardian. Even if it wouldn't be completely legal it would be morally sound. I worry about that adoptive family of his," he told Duo. Right now he was happy it was Duo who was here with him rather than any other pilot, even rather than Trowa. He liked Trowa more, but despite having similarities in their backgrounds, Duo was the one who understood this better, understood why it mattered to Quatre; Trowa had been a child soldier long before the war. Heero would have said something about how soldiers were supposed to follow orders, not play solo because they felt like it and Wufei would have done something noble and excessive and not thought through.

"Why?" Duo asked. He had washed his hair after returning from the Oz Entebbe base and left it free to dry. Now he was braiding it behind his back with an ease that impressed Quatre. He doubted he could have angled his arms like that, let alone done something in that position.

There was a small box full of dark-colored, sticky mass open on the bench next to Duo and a carton of cigarettes net to it. Well, his eyes _were_ drooping sleepily. It was black magic, a crude freebase form of caffeine that could be smoked to obtain a powerful caffeine buzz. Many of his Maguanacs smoked it and Duo seemed to have found it during his stay in Uganda. Quatre himself was on caffeine pills; he had been too busy organizing a trip to L4 for the Lovegood family to catch any sleep. And there was one more thing he had to get off his chest.

"He offered to join the war effort in exchange of my help. He had protested the colonies sending me out to fight before, but didn't see anything wrong fighting himself despite being two years younger. They way he spoke, it was like he didn't think human rights covered him at all. And he was surprised that I cared. Not only that I was the one who cared, but that someone did. That was NOT a healthy reaction."

Quatre remembered how Harry Potter had blacked out in his arms. Quatre had risen from the floor, unsure what to do with him. Luna had claimed Harry only needed food and rest but… A door had been slammed open and the matron of the motel had stood there in flower-printed pyjamas and curlers in her hair, mouth open, but not a sound had come out as she took in the small room with thirty five people cramped in, men in uniforms and without, many bloody, all heavily armed, tall dark, intimidating. Then she had screamed and it had turned into a three ring circus.

"I piggybacked Luna on our way here," he said. His Sandrock, as well as all the Maguanac mobile suits, had been designed to carry one passenger in case of emergency. He hadn't been very comfortable with a person he hadn't really known fastened behind his back.

"I thought getting Luna to trust me with the explanation would be hard. I was wrong in that regard, though she doesn't understand what she and Harry are," he continued.

"Luna too?" Duo asked as he rolled a black magic cigar for himself. The smell of it was bitter, but Quatre didn't complain. Caffeine was much better habit than amphetamine-based stimulants.

"She told me outlandish tales of doing spells and using wands and protecting herself from something called nargles that I think are a little like gremlins, maybe. She wasn't terribly clear on this point. Harry can teleport people and I hadn't thought that was even possible, wouldn't believe it if I hadn't experienced it first hand. Luna, if she spoke the truth, appears to be a strong clairvoyant and possibly a telepath." Quatre understood Duo's surprise; this was quite a coincidence, though mayhaps they had known each other precisely because they had psychokinesis and ESP.

Psychokinesis and extrasensory perception were umbrella terms for a wide variety of talents which included telekinesis, telepathy, and the empathy that Quatre himself possessed – which was really only low-level telepathy – object deformation, also known as spoon bending, clairvoyance and, apparently, teleportation. These abilities were _very rare_ and generally not very strong; people commonly labelled as empaths were much more common than high-level telepaths and telekinetics could usually only lift pencils or effect rolling dices. Of course there was an exception to every rule. There had been the case of John Sanmonk who once demonstrated his telekinesis abilities in a lab under scientific, recorded testing by smashing a fifty kilogram aluminum block into a wall a few years before Quatre was born. And now there were Harry and Luna.

They called it magic, but Quatre knew better; due to a genetic quick they could simply use a part of their brains that most people couldn't. No one had ever managed to isolate these kind of mutations. The Romefeller Foundation certainly would have taken advantage of this and employed gene therapy had they been able to. But that wouldn't stop them from attempting to _breed _Luna and Harry for their skills should they ever find out and get their hands on the children.

The thought of the wispy, strange girl and determined, good-hearted boy being used like that made him very sick.

"They really are in need of protection," he stated glumly. Sure, Harry might be hard to contain, but not all chains were physical.

He wondered how powerful Harry was. You couldn't pilot a Gundam without a very good understanding of the laws of physics, and Quatre had, thanks to his condition, gotten good at understanding of the limitations placed on those who had psychic talents on the side. Had he not experienced it first hand he would have called the idea of a person able to teleport themselves preposterous. A person able to teleport themselves and over thirty other people was plain brain-breaking. Harry had suffered little for his actions; he had been stable the whole time and Luna had said he would return to normal with sleep and calorie-rich food. Add to this that he wasn't even a full-grown adult yet… Quatre was very grateful he didn't hail from a family of staunch Oz supporters.

"Amen," said Duo. And he continued: "Human rights cover us too."

"That's a completely different thing," Quatre said, uncomfortably aware of how he was echoing Harry. It wasn't like anyone had ever beaten the self-sacrificing streak into him. Certainly he had needed a little convincing that self-esteem was for everyone, but he wasn't here to please anyone but his own conscience.

"Yeah. Nobody's making virgin sacrifices out of us but us!" Duo cheered him on. Quatre did a double take at that.

"Virgin sacrifices?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he still had to ask, images of white dresses traipsing through his mind. It was rather like watching a train wreck commence.

"Are you saying you aren't a virgin anymore? I guess it's true what they say about the quiet ones." Duo was grinning like a madman and now Quatre wanted Trowa there, yesterday.

He needed to have a conversation with Harry – a serious conversation about to what extent to which they should involve his adoptive family and where to situate him and his godfather. Also, more details about his abilities from someone easier to converse with than Luna were needed. But first he needed to catch some sleep. He wanted to be clear-headed for this conversation.

* * *

AN: Quatre's jumping to conclusions here, but regarding Harry's past, they aren't exactly wrong. Harry was abused as a child by the Dursleys, just not in this dimension. Also the Hogwarts' staff, while not deliberately malicious (if Snape doesn't count), haven't been very competent with regard to his safety. That shows too. And about Quatre's disbelief of magic, he puts the phenomena he has witnessed into boxes he is comfortable with. He has seen pretty little thus far so it is easy to stick the label of psychokinetics on them.

There are two big differences between magic and psychokinesis/extrasensory perception. One is that the first mentioned doesn't have to care about laws of physics and the latter does: psychokinesis can not teleport anything. It can not turn a teacup into a hedgehog. It can not split a soul. Second is that magic is very versatile. While a person usually only has one psychokinetic gift and never more than two. A wizard can teleport _and_ turn teacups into things without caring about mass conservation, as well as split souls if they are given the right instructions. Also, as I said, the gifts in the Gundam world are usually rather weak and never compare to magic in strength. Neville is relatively weak in wizards' terms, but he would drop jaws in this dimension.


	6. Chapter 6

**Special episode: Meanwhile**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

Meanwhile in London, the brightly lit station of City of London Police, Vernon Dursley was freaking out and Petunia Dursley was well on her way to having a full-blown mental meltdown.

Dudley Dursley had been the first one to notice when Harry had gone missing when he had not returned to their dorm room before the curfew. But Dudley had been late more than once and he had an understanding of this kind of thing with his brother. Harry hadn't ratted him out and he wasn't about to rat Harry. Besides, how bad things could Harry possibly be doing? It was Harry! He was so squeaky clean he glittered in the sun! He was probably just snogging with Ibie somewhere. So Dudley had gone to bed, but when he had awakened at two in the morning, risen to get a glass of water and realized that Harry's bed was still empty he had panicked and called the dorm manager.

"This is an outrage! Why aren't you doing anything to rescue my son? Who knows what kind of people are holding him and what has happened to him! He might be dead in some ditch already and here you are, sitting on your orderly behinds and worrying more about regulations than the safety of an innocent boy!" Petunia's voice rose to falsetto and the man in blue uniform flinched a little and sent a desperate look towards his partner, who decided discretion was a better part of valour and hid behind his computer. This only riled her more.

"Mrs. Dursley, we are looking for your son. That a person must be absent for seventy two hours before being legally classed as missing is a misconception, especially when the person in question is a child. If you would please answer to the following questions: Has your son showed any signs of extreme mood changes or rebelliousness, withdrawal from family and long-term friends, drop in grades or frequently skipping school, remarkable change in appearance, like major weight loss or lack of attention to personal hygiene…" The man's voice was businesslike and matter-of-factly as he laid more and more of very insulting notions to the table. Petunia could barely believe what she was hearing.

But her dearest Vernon was the one who first regained the use of his tongue.

"What are you suggesting? Our Harry is a good boy and he has never been any trouble! He is not common riffraff!" he hollered with his face red. At times like these Petunia remembered why she loved Vernon the best. He hadn't been the most handsome or most exciting of her suitors, but Petunia wasn't a handsome or exciting kind of woman. She had wanted someone she could depend on and from that first date, when a restaurant manager had said they must have displaced their reservation and Vernon had seen to it that they received what was rightfully theirs, she had known that she could trust him to take care of things. Let Lily have her adventure – she wanted a white picket fence and children.

"These are common warning signs of a troubled teen on the verge of running away from home," the man said. He wasn't very tall and his jaw was rather weak. He didn't look like the kind of man who could be depended on to return their child safely to home.

"My son is not troubled, my son is kidnapped," Petunia forced herself to speak slowly and clearly. The man had obviously trouble understanding her. They were a good family, they lived in a good neighbourhood, their sons went to a good school and got good grades. Troubled teenagers happened to single parents and gay couples and other troubled individuals. Troubled teenagers happened in places like colonies, in Russia and Uganda and Brazil where people where fighting. Troubled teenagers didn't live in Privet Drive.

"What do I look like, a maid? Clean it yourself," a grumpy voice sounded over the background noise and two men walked towards the three of them. If the man sitting behind the desk was small these men were both tall, but more the lanky kind than huge.

"I don't know, didn't you have that frilly apron and the feather duster that your wife…" the other one said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. The small man behind the desk, Petunia thought his name was Detective Frigga or something, went through a long list of things her son wasn't, going as far as suggesting that Harry might have fallen into bad company. There wasn't any bad company in Smeltings.

"Let it go, or I'll beat you to death with the feather duster! And what would the papers say then?" Those obnoxious people were getting closer and closer to them.

"London Police Detective Dies in a Strange Crime of Passion," Detective Frigga offered, looking up from his computer he had hid his face behind, looking a little suffering. "Cleaner Union Demands Better Wages." Petunia was fuming. _These _people didn't deserve the wages they were getting now with the kind of attitude they had.

"Pay attention to us," she gritted between her teeth.

"Hey, we questioned people at the school and now there is another boy missing; the one Dursley was showing around. He's a rich one too, might have been a kidnapping." The attention of the men walking in had been on each other, play-cuffing and poorly hidden smirks. Only after this had been said the man seemed to notice the family whose son had gone missing was standing right before them.

"Do you see now? My poor son has been kidnapped and who knows what might happen to him as we speak!" Petunia had been on the verge of tears and now her eyes simply overflowed, her shoulders were shaking and she heard small keening voice she dimly thought might have come from her throat. Warm arms slid around her waist and Vernon rested his chin on her bony shoulder, his arms tight around her. She couldn't see his expression; only feel his warmth enveloping her.

"If you don't mind, I will take this over now, Harri," a cultured voice sounded from somewhere left. Petunia turned to look towards it.

It was a young man, he couldn't be much past twenty and the long, curly hair wasn't helping him look respectable any. He had a beaded bracelet in his right wrist and his shoes were… well, they were shoes, but Petunia hadn't known police officers were allowed to wear traffic light red anything, and were those little flowers on the shoe laces? Didn't they have any kind of dress code? He looked just the kind of young hooligan that got drunk at Wednesday night and broke the window to steal tobacco from a store, not the kind of person who might catch those. But his gaze was steady and serious and sympathetic as he looked her straight into the eye.

"My name is Neo Camander, I wish we could say it's nice to meet each other, but… Please follow me, ma'am, mister, into my bullpen and I will begin to straighten this out," he said and gestured them to follow.

Petunia couldn't help, but notice how relieved Detective Frigga looked and had to bite her tongue to not cause an unseemly scene – again. This young man might look suspicious, but at least he was respectful and even she couldn't find any fault in his manner of speech. Didn't police have people who went undercover among shady people as part of their job? Maybe this young man was one of those people. Detective Camander walked down the hall towards his bullpen, a small pile of paperwork that was probably his reports tucked under one arm. Vernon's smile was strained as he was fighting against the ingrained reactions to hair like this man's, fighting the mixed signals, but she couldn't help but feel, that everything might turn out right in the end after all.

Harry Potter hadn't learned it yet and Harry Dursley had forgotten, but the days where he could just disappear from the people responsible for his safety without a word and not cause uproar were a thing of past.

* * *

Meanwhile, Treize Kushrenada had also been informed of the recent developments and while he was much too calm and collected to ever be called freaked out, he was disturbed by the intel he had received of the break-out of the Lovegood family by pilot 04's underlings.

"You're on in fifteen minutes, Colonel Kushrenada," the young aide he had been given for the evening said, looking almost giddy in his presence.

"Thank you. I'll be ready," Treize answered to the woman. He intensely disliked the press, but right now he was needed to be seen by the people out in the open, giving them confidence in the power of the government. The attack of Gundams 03 and 04 to the Corsica Base, 01 destroying a shuttle carrying a load of gundanium alloy and the supposedly intentional and successful attack to the New Edwards base were beginning to discourage the citizens of the United Earth Sphere Alliance everywhere. His advisors were all in agreement – the people needed to seem him, hear him speak, let them know that he was in charge and most importantly that he was still strong. That things were going to change, go their way. Of course the only true discord was the one the public didn't know of, but he couldn't very well reveal that.

He was a conductor, leading the great symphony of war to end all symphonies. Conductors must have the complete respect of the musicians they lead, a personal charisma that awes both musician and listener alike. Oh, many hated Colonel Kushrenada with all the intensity and passion of a burning sun, but even his worst enemies couldn't deny his skill, his unerring ear to the tides of war and politics, his worth. Conductors make no sound themselves, yet control the sounds that others make. The orchestra is their instrument and armies were Kushrenada's musicians whom he inspired to the brilliant heights of musical perfection, playing to his tune towards the grande finale. The Order of the Zodiac, the Romefeller Foundation, the colonies and Earth discontents, whether they knew it or not they had been in his hands from the very beginning of the strife.

But now a new instrument had entered the symphony, disrupting the timing, rhythm, and structure of his creation. He had planned for many contingencies and while he wasn't arrogant enough to believe he could anticipate every small detail this one wasn't small. They had lost Calla Lovegood and her knowledge, but that was a small hindrance when compared to the fact the colonies now seemed to have fully functional teleporting technology.

In theory, the concept of teleportation didn't go against the laws of nature – if one thought of it as disassemblings the body down to atomic level and sending the instructions on how to reassemble it again from new atoms in a new location. This of course left the moral dilemma of wondering whether you were still the same person when you came out. But the same person or not, while sound in theory, there had been a wide gap between concept and application – or there should have been. Treize found it disconcerting that something of this magnitude had been kept from him.

Also, it begged the question of what else the colonies might have been hiding. Who were the people who had given them this kind of technology?

The news studio the aide led him and the lieutenant accompanying him to what was one of the biggest of news stations. In the middle of it there was a small, comfortable-looking group of chairs arranged on a beige carpet around a table, all in pleasant, light shades of brown and muted red, surrounded on three sides by gently curving neon green walls. It was a virtual studio, the colours of the furniture chosen to be as neutral as possible so they would fit most props. This peaceful, if eye-burning, island was surrounded by the seemingly chaotic hurdle of cameras on pedestals and rails, lights, video switcher and audio console mounting cabinetry, monitor wall and intercom systems, equipment racks and wires. Busy-looking people were dashing across the room, carrying palmtops and inserting needles into computers or speaking to each other with wide hand gestures.

"I don't trust people who feel it necessary to gesture that much," the lieutenant mumbled under his breath, obviously not intending for Treize to hear. Thorough background checks had been performed on all people in the building that day and the whole building had been secured, but there was always a certain risk in situations like this.

His time could be better used than this, but giving the appearance of having control over the situation was important. He would not let the colonies see him change his schedule when there was little he could actually do at the moment. If he knew the location of the home base of the Gundam pilot 04, the location of this new technology, it would be a different thing.

They didn't have any footage of the attack to the London main base, due to the hacking of the security system, but the accounts of the soldiers who had witnessed the sudden retreat of the intruders were all in accord. The soldiers had been red with anger and pale with fright and grey with blood loss, their eyes shifty and nervous.

"I find it curious they didn't simply teleport themselves in," he mused. He didn't realize he had spoken out loud before he was given an answer.

"I think it might be that they had to know exactly where they are going in order to teleport. They might end up materializing inside a wall otherwise. Uh, sir!" The soldier speaking to him paled a little and stood straighter, a small grimace on his face. "Sir, sorry for speaking out of turn, sir!" Treize waved it off, deep in his thought.

"Be at peace, lieutenant. You have made a good point." This kind of limitation placed on the colonies' new advantage would even things out a bit, but even then, the ability to transport a soldier out of any situation gone bad was something he would have quite hard time keying into his plans.

A woman with curly, multicoloured hair – there were red, purple and green stripes – long nails with little butterflies painted into them and heeled shoes – so high that they might as well have been toe shoes – walked towards him, with a smile that was all business on her face. The sharp taktaktak of her heels carried over the background noise easily.

"I'm Claudette Triste, it's wonderful to meet you, Colonel Kushrenada. I hope your flight was uneventful, since these days, that's synonymous to pleasant, isn't it? Here are the questions, please tell me now if you object to something. The show will come out at nine o'clock." She pumped his hand twice and thrust a palmtop into his hand. His lieutenant was giving her a disapproving frown, but Treize smiled, amused, and took the small computer, going through with it quickly.

"I find nothing objectionable," he said and gave the woman a winning smile that made her flush slightly and twisted her lips into something that resembled an expression of happiness a bit more.

The media was playing according to his directions, passages played with a gradual increase in volume and intensity. He barely had to devote any thought to it and was free to ponder the discord that had entered into his perfect work of art. He would need more intel and since pilot 04 was the one who had urilized the new technology and coincidentally also the only one with a circle of soldiers to take advantage of, he would have to slip someone into their recruiting once his own intelligence figured out how the recruiting took place – and where. He was led into the bright lights of the furniture group and he took a chair opposite to Ms. Triste. He noticed with a disapproving eye that her demeanor clashed with the set even worse than he had anticipated.

"Good evening everyone, I'm Claudette Triste reporting on day twenty three of the UESA-colonies conflict." She was only counting from the landing of the Gundams – oversimplifying the conflict and its players. Multicoloured hair aside, for this she was perfect.

* * *

Meanwhile, the school day had finally ended and Dudley Dursley was beating himself up for not noticing earlier that something was wrong with Harry.

"I should have known. Harry always calls when he is late to something, he hates worrying people," he said and hit the ground with a fisted hand. It made him feel very slightly better – the satisfying thump and the image of hitting the person who had taken Harry – but it didn't solve anything.

"To be fair, I don't think that you could have found him even if you would have gone searching him then. He was already gone," Ibie Popez said with a hesitant voice. They couldn't know for sure if Dudley could have saved Harry if he had called the dorm manager then, but probably not. The man would have just thought that Harry was a little late or had run away. He thought now that Harry had run away and the disdain at that notion was one of the few things the two groups agreed on.

They were sitting on a red and white clothe on a ground between the Imran Khan dorm and the Dame Julie dorm, a buffer of a picnic basket and paper plates between the two groups of people. It was a bit early in the spring for a picnic and they were shivering in their winter coats, but they didn't want anyone near to overhear them and since there were both girls and boys dorm rooms were right out. On Dudley's side, there were scrawny rat-faced Piers Polkiss and also Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon who, despite not looking the same at all, often got lumped together into one Dennisgordonmalcolm-entity that even some teachers had difficulties telling apart by right names because they always thought the same and acted the same and even their voices were eerily similar. On Ibie's side there sat Hsieh Lai, who was at that point thoroughly annoyed at having to explain that her first name came last and yes, it was supposed to, Zoe Mitsinikos and Mike Stanton.

Harry and Dudley's circles of friends didn't overlap. Harry's friends thought that Dudley's friends were bullies and Dudley's friends thought that Harry's friends were totally barmy – and who wanted to be friends with birds anyway – but now these two groups were united far beyond their natural limits by their worry for Harry.

"All right, what do we know? Dean Leger had Harry show a new student, Qays Bitar, around the campus and then they both disappear into thin air," Ibie recited and looked around expectantly.

"I overheard some teachers talking. They had checked some database and Harry last used his tag on the greenhouse's door and then it was opened from the inside half an hour later," Gordon put in his own two cents. His shoulders were hunched and he was keeping his hands in his pockets.

"Somebody write this up," Dudley commanded. He had decided to find Harry before the police. It was his duty; Harry was his baby brother. Okay, he wasn't that much younger, but younger was still younger and besides, Harry couldn't really take care of himself without Dudley. He had to find Harry.

"I saw Harry walking towards the greenhouse with Bitar yesterday," Mike said as he took his phone from his pocket and started writing a note. "But they weren't alone; there was some blonde girl with red coat and really short skirt with them. And some kind of pink shoes. I only saw them at a distance, but she seemed to be their age." He frowned as he said the last part.

"Obviously in league with the kidnappers," Dudley decided. The girl had led Harry and Bitar to the greenhouse where the men who had kidnapped them had laid in waiting.

"She could just be some friend of Bitar's, right? We shouldn't just jump into conclusions without knowing the facts," complained Ibie, but she looked like she had swallowed something sour. Seemed like the green-eyed monster had knocked at the door and the welcome mat had been laid out.

"Bitar's from Kemet so his friends would be there. If she didn't have the school uniform then she isn't a student here and you should know Harry's friends. If she isn't one of you, then she is a complete stranger," Piers pointed out. Dudley nodded approvingly as he took a bread roll from the basket, a good one with lots of mustard and mayonnaise and ham. Piers was the clever one. He could be counted on to work something out when they wanted to leave the campus and let them copy his homework when Harry decided to be a dick about it and only offered tutoring. Like the things they were made to study would matter any in the real world. Once you got out with good grades, the world was open – never mind how you got those grades.

They talked about it and reached the conclusion that since Bitar had disappeared also and was – as Dudley put it – filthy rich, he had most likely been the real target. Harry, who had been ordered by Dean Leger to show Bitar around had been grabbed also because the kidnappers didn't want witnesses. The blonde girl had been put into the aiding and abetting – category pending until evidence showed the contrary. Also, Harry had to be found – and quickly – because if he was unnecessary to the kidnappers, they might do something to him. No one could bring themselves to say that he might be killed, but Ibie paled when Piers brought the possibility up and Dudley felt his stomach dropping down to his ankles and he couldn't finish the sandwich he had started; it tasted like mouthful of sawdust. He wasn't the warm and fuzzy type, hugging and telling your brother that you loved him was for the leftist, liberal, New Age nutsos, but if Harry was hurt he was going to kill somebody.

The wind was picking up and the paper plates went flying the second someone took whatever had been pinning it down. In the end they had to weight them down with their phones, palmtops and whatever else they happened to have at hand.

It was Lai's idea to research Qays Bitar further. Whether someone wanted to ransom Bitar for money or political concessions would affect Harry too, and who his father was could give them clues. They all had phones and access to the Internet and that was when troubles started.

"Is there anyone in this day and age who doesn't have any kind of account anywhere?" Ibie asked, befuddled and Dudley could only nod dumbly. Qays Bitar appeared to be a pretty rare name if you went by the number of the search results. It wasn't that they couldn't find anyone named Qays Bitar, but they couldn't find the right one. It was like the boy hadn't even heard of social media. Dudley had gotten a WritingOnTheWall account at the age of twelve and Bitar was supposed to be fifteen. Yet, no accounts at Internet forums, weblogs, social blogs, micro blogs, wikis, podcasts, content communities, virtual game worlds or anywhere at all.

"It's like he didn't exist at all," he said and only afterwards realized what he had said. "What if he doesn't exist?"

That would change everything. If Qays wasn't kidnapped, but a kidnapper, then Harry was obviously the intended target, but why would anyone want to kidnap Harry? The Dursleys were well off, but there were kids from richer families at Smeltings and his dad didn't have any political power or anything.

"I guess we will have to wait. The police will find out soon if Bitar doesn't exist and they should tell your parents. Do you think you can get them to tell you?" Ibie asked. Dudley nodded confidently.

"They always give me everything I want," he said. Ibie muttered something under her breath that ended with "no wonder" and "wonder how Harry", but he wasn't feeling up to bugging her about it. He was worried and he was cold. It was a cloudy, windy day and even with their winter coats they were all shivering pretty violently. Ibie's lips were looking kind of bluish and the purple scarf she had folded around her neck made them look that much bluer. The people who had walked by them, separated by half of the large lawn, had given them some really odd looks.

"I will call everybody when I find out about this," he promised and stood up, hopping up and down a little to get the blood flowing at his legs. He left and his friends left with him. The girls and Mike were left collecting the leftovers of their camouflage picnic and glaring at their backs. They even had brought a plastic bag for the rubbish, a green one that meant it was the decomposing kind leftist environmentalists like them liked. If Dudley had tried to help he would have just dumped it all into the same bin; he didn't see why they were so cross.

He was pretty sure Bitar was in league with the kidnappers too. He and the girl were both blond so maybe they were a brother and a sister. Besides, he was blond and everybody knew that Muslims were dark-skinned because they were from the Middle East. A blond Middle Eastern was just plain dumb disguise. Piers said something, but he wasn't listening to him, thought churning around Harry and Bitar. He would beat the boy to the ground when he found them. No crook – fake or real Muslim – messed with his family.

* * *

Meanwhile, Walburga Black was sitting in her dressing room in front of the mirror, her maid combing her hair. She had received news of the Greengrass family and she was cursing her sons in her thoughts again. She was afraid she would have to make a decision she had avoided for so long.

It was a dark day in London, but even if the sun had been shinning at its very brightest, it would still have been dim inside Grimmauld's Place. The windows were never opened before June and the dark purple and green drapes had been closed tightly. The small, pink lamps that circled the mirror gave most of the light in the room, only aided by a small bedside light.

Walburga Black hated children. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more obnoxious than children – except perhaps dogs. They were noisy and needy and notoriously messy and so she had vowed to herself that she would never have children. Even after she had married her second cousin Orion – to keep her inheritance in the family, as per her father's orders – she had kept that promise to herself. She had two brothers; surely one of them would decide to have a horde of brats tearing apart their house. But Cygnus hadn't been able to provide an heir; he had had three daughters and no sons. Alphard had turned out to be a poofter and while that was just a sometimes unlucky result of good breeding it couldn't have happened at more unfortunate time.

Of course girls could be useful, she knew that better than anyone, but they were not male and a male heir was needed to carry on the family name. For all Duke Dermail might have nominated his granddaughter his heir, the Romefeller Foundation was usually traditional about these kind of things. Women took the names of their husbands when they married and they married into other Romefeller lines or acceptable noveau rich families before they had children, or else. So she had gotten pregnant, not once, but twice. Both children were boys.

Walburga sat in front of a mirror, her maid combing her hair. She could remember her youth; she had been a beautiful maiden, her long ebony hair and soft rose red lips matching her ice green eyes. She had been the apple of her mother's eye, her father's pride, she had broken hearts left, right and center. Now her hair was grey under the black dye – she should dye the roots again – and the plastic surgery couldn't hide her wrinkles anymore.

There was a meek knock on the door. Walburga turned her head to glare at it.

"Enter," she commanded and turned off the day planner she hadn't been reading anyway.

A tall, rather large woman in a maid's uniform entered the room. Her thick black hair was tied in a tight knot on top of her head and in her hand she held a real paper letter, the address written with golden ink.

Hi-tech was a sign of privilege, but low-tech could be the same. If you took the time to write a letter by hand, if you paid to have it delivered, if you had elegant handwriting you could show in a time where children more often than not learned to write with a keyboard, that was a sign of class – if you were well off enough that usual means were available to you also. If a person was so poor they couldn't afford a computer, if they lived in some kind of periphery where snail mail was the only way, it was an entirely different thing.

"Madam Black, you have received letters from the Greengrass's and the Catalonias," said the maid and handed the letter to her. Walburga waved her to leave the room and opened the first one. It confirmed what she had already known – the Greengrass's had a new child, a daughter they had decided to name Kyrie, and they were inviting her to the christening. The Greengrass's were of a very respectable, old lineage and Kyrie would surely make a very respectable daughter and a wife some day.

From the moment Sirius was born he had been disobedient, uncooperative, unwilling to conform to the old ways. Regulus had been the good son, right until the moment he had decided to turn traitor as well and get himself killed. Now the family was left with no heir at all and her thoughts were circling The Boy again.

The Malfoys could not spare their only son. The Lestranges could not spare their only son. Andromeda only had a daughter, but the traitor wouldn't have spared a son even if she'd ten of them. Still, there was one child left, as unpalatable as the thought was. Walburga Black hated the Potters from the bottom of her bitter heart, hated them and Lupin for daring to turn her son against his family and rightful legacy, had rejoiced when an _unfortunate_ _accident _had happened to James and Lily Potter, but even then their legacy was now her last, best hope. The Boy whom Sirius had named his heir and it was _legal_ – The Boy who was related to the Blacks by Blood, through Dorea Potter nee Black; Sirius and James had been first cousins twice removed. The Boy whose dead parents certainly could spare him. The Boy with his middle-class adoptive family who should happily hand over in order to acquire the right kind of connections.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Have a Potter as an heir or have no heir at all. But surely, with a firm hand, the boy could be moulded into a proper Black yet. According to what her people had gotten out of the Smeltings' guidance counsellor, Harry Dursley intended to have a career in the field of quantum chemistry, but he could well become a patron of sciences instead and go into the politics. Besides, he couldn't probably turn out to be worse than all too many Blacks lately.

She took her purse and opened it, grabbing her framebook and activating it. The slideshow began, pictures of a dark-haired boy with dates attached running through the frame. Candid shots taken from awkward angles and at a distance and the official school pictures followed by the occasional report, all good grades and a shining example of hard work and intelligence. Amused, Walburga wondered if this might count as stalking as the picture of the boy laughing with a Mediterranean-looking girl in Smeltings' uniform came up, the lens flare half obstructing her face. She frowned; those kind of common people would have to go. It wouldn't do to expose the boy to bad influences.

What had gone wrong with the family? Sirius, a traitor; good, trustworthy Regulus, a traitor; Andromeda, a traitor. There were more blood traitors than loyal ones in their generation! It would be poetic justice to take the son of Potters and turn him into a traitor to his birth family.

Walburga opened the second letter. It was from Duke Dermail who wished to discuss some unspecified business with her. Walburga assumed it had to do with that new chain of mobile doll factories the man kept raving about. He was a terrible bore, almost like a commoner, but it wouldn't do to anger the man. She sighed.

A knock from the door interrupted her musings. She was shaken back into the present, her hair almost finished, the frame still looping. The woman whose hands were carefully pinning her curled tresses up might as well have been a robot; Walburga didn't see her as someone with a mind and will of her own. But she wasn't sure who was behind the door and even though she knew it was probably only another drone, she deactivated the frame guiltily. She didn't like being made feel guilty.

"What is it?" she asked. She didn't give the permission to enter, but the door was cracked open anyway. This time it was the butler. Walburga didn't ever really approve of hired help as a rule – the best they could hope for was a lack of disdain. But the black, greying, dignified man with straight back, pleasant manners and soothing voice got as close to approval as anyone ever had. He was an old school butler, the kind a woman could depend on to keep their estate run properly and keep all her secrets. Had he not been so much lower in station, she might have even found those qualities attractive.

"You have been contacted by Mr. Camander, Dame Black. If I may say so, this sound like urgent kind of news." No expression crossed his face.

No news that Mr. Allam called urgent should be discussed in front of another, for all she might only be a maid. Walburga waved the woman to leave her. Mr. Allam could give her hair the finishing touch. At times like this, Walburga found herself wondering if there was something the man couldn't do. She waited until the door closed softly, the thick oak door blocking all words.

* * *

AN: I hereby disown Vernon and Petunia Dursley's opinions of single parents, gays and whoever else they managed to insult. I just wanted to show that they are still the same prejudiced, small-minded Dursleys we all love to hate – they just happen to love their both sons a lot.

AN2: Timeline? What timeline? Wait, there _is _a timeline!

**147:** All colonies are forced into the control of the Alliance.

**149:** The Alliance transfers control of the colonies to their mother countries, removing their autonomy.

**175:** The first Heero Yuy is assassinated

**182:** The Sanq Kingdom is attacked by Alliance forces. King Peacecraft is killed.

183: Mathilda Sisulu is executed and Sirius Black is imprisoned.

**188:** A series of revolts breaks out across the colonies, all violently put down by the Alliance.

**April 6, 195:** Operation Meteor's launch date.

**April 7, 195:** The Gundams land on Earth; Deathscythe in America, Sandrock in the Sahara, Shenlong in China, Heavyarms in England and Wing crash-lands off the coast of Japan.

**May 19, 195:** The Alliance leadership meets at the New Edwards base to discuss peace, but the Gundams pilots are tricked into killing the leaders, causing all-out war between the Alliance and space. Quatre and Duo meet first time during this mission.

May 23, 195: Harry Potter's first day in the new dimension.

May 29, 195: Harry and Quatre meet, Luna escapes the Oz London main base and her parents are rescued.

May 30, 195 Harry, Quatre and Luna are in Uganda with Duo. Meanwhile people are noticing something isn't as it used to be.

**June 9, 195:** Oz lures the Gundams to attack a Taurus transport route. Lady Une attempts to force the Gundams' surrender by threatening the colonies with Alliance missile satellites, leading to the self-destruction of the Wing. Maybe. We shall see…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter V: A dream is a wish your heart makes**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

While both Quatre Winner and Duo Maxwell were catching a few hours of sleep, Harry had already volunteered to help in the camp.

Harry Potter had always healed quickly. He hadn't ever asked anyone ‒ he hadn't been comfortable with talking about those kind of things ‒ but he thought that maybe his magic had healed him a lot during his childhood. And sustained, because while he was – had been – small he hadn't been malnourished, which he really should have been with that little food. He hadn't even realized people were supposed to eat more, as opposed to Dudley and Vernon just being kind of pigs with food, before entering Hogwarts and seeing how much the other students ate. His bruises always healed overnight. Now, with fresh air and more food, his headache was almost completely gone.

He had wandered around a little, not sure where he was allowed to go and where not. Everything seemed to be a puzzling mix of run down buildings and vehicles and some shiny, newer than new tech he could glimpse. The ground was yellow sand that was still rather moist ‒ the only asphalt could be found in the airport. The people were also different from what he had seen before, hard and even scary, though fortunately they mostly ignored him completely.

Harry Potter was also well familiar with housekeeping. Whether it was preparing meals or cleaning the house, removing leaves from rain gutters or washing the windows, sweeping doormats or taking out the trash, he had been tasked with doing it. He managed to lazy around whole half an hour before the busy people rushing about made him feel guilty enough to offer to help. He had been promptly given the task or ordering their household chemical closets and an approving look. He had taken one look at the first one and concluded with an uneasy sensation at the bottom of his stomach that the huge containers full of chemicals probably weren't used for cleaning as much as other things.

It was a whole new world for both Potter and Dursley. The yellow sand was everywhere ‒ it drifted under the clothes and was carried inside at the bottom of boots. Everything was built of wood, but not the kind of wooden houses you could occasionally see in Diagon Alley or some better, older parts of London ‒ posh and old-fashioned, but newly painted and beautiful. These buildings had been painted dark brown or green if they had been painted at all, plain straight walls and square windows with heavy, black curtains inside – if they hadn't been painted black. The people all looked strong and hard and scary and everybody adult carried at least one gun. Among wizards and witches looks could be really deceiving, but one look at these people told that they were strong and tough. But that wasn't all.

Even their supplies managed to be unnerving. Giant white bottles, big wine red and grey jars, bright red canisters on the floor. It looked totally innocuous at first glance but the labels told another tale. There were air fresheners. Harry Dursley had watched documentation from TV once about these things. The man in white coat had explained how people shouldn't let the commercials fool them. Most air fresheners interfered with the ability to smell by disabling nasal passages with an oil film or a nerve-deadening agent. Common chemicals in air fresheners included formaldehyde, a highly toxic carcinogen, and phenol, which could cause hives, convulsions, circulatory collapse, coma and even death. That famous program had signalled the end of that type of air fresheners in Great Britain. Harry Potter had learned at early age, learning to read as much by reading the labels of different kinds of bottles and jars as much as in school, of the dangers of furniture polish; highly flammable and often containing extremely toxic chemical that were easily absorbed through the skin, and bleach; which, when mixed with ammonia, produced deadly fumes.

There was also a motley assortment of ammonia, dishwasher detergents, drain cleaners and pesticides that all had the red DANGER warning on their labels: **The chemical is harmful or fatal if swallowed. Ingestion of a small taste to a teaspoon can kill an average-sized adult.**

He was poking through the last closet and staring in disbelief at the label of lice shampoo that claimed inhalation, ingestion, or absorption of lindane caused vomiting, convulsions and circulatory collapse and might cause liver damage, stillbirths, birth defects and cancer.

"People actually use this on themselves? And don't kill themselves with it?" he wondered out loud, shaking his head and staring the innocent-looking bottle with purple and yellow flowers on it.

"In richer, more civilized areas they don't, but here, those old products are still popular," Quatre's voice sounded from behind his back. Harry yelped and jumped at little, banging his head to the low-hanging lamp.

"You startled me," he accused rubbing his head, the swinging lamp making dim, yellow light and shadows swish back and forth.

"I am sorry. I came here because I would like to ask some questions of you," Quatre explained. Harry nodded and looked back towards the almost completely ordered closet. He hadn't been given many instructions so he had put everything in alphabetical order.

"They don't actually use these for cleaning, do they?" he asked. His voice was rather small and he didn't like it much. Quatre sighed.

"No, they don't. You see, you need a permit to buy phenol and nitrobenzene, but not furniture polish. Household chemicals aren't regulated." They just required a chemist to tweak them and refine them, he didn't say, he didn't need to say.

Quatre was still clad in beige and pastels. He looked so white and soft and stylish and totally out of place that Harry wondered if people were giving him hard time. Maybe not, though. He had learned that Quatre was a Gundam pilot and how cool was _that_? Harry tried to imagine small Quatre inside the chest of a massive GUndam and came short. That was something he would just have to see.

"I still need to order this closet. Can we talk here?" He didn't want to skive off on the first task he had been given.

"I would rather not. I will help you with it," Quatre said.

It wasn't any quicker than it would have been had Harry been working alone. In fact, they went slower because the closet was so full of shelves and canisters on the floor that one person barely could turn around if they were careful with their elbows. He had to physically step out before Quatre could step in. But when he was going to suggest that that older boy step back and let him finish he was stopped by the utterly fascinated and eager look on Quatre's face. He wasn't sure what was so great about ordering a dusty closet and lifting heavy, red canisters full of pesticide in and out, but Quatre seemed to think it was something new and exiting.

Well, Harry amended in his mind, considering that he was one of _those_ Winners, maybe he hadn't ever ordered a closet before, though he still didn't see the attraction.

"The Maguanacs never let me do menial things. It's one thing to take care of my own equipment ‒ that's expected ‒ but they get this look when I try to help them in the kitchen, for example," he explained, examining his fingers, black with some kind of soot these closets seemed to collect, and looked vaguely satisfied.

They vacated into the small shack given to Quatre and the five Maguanacs who had followed him there. Harry was looking around as they walked towards the fence and tree line, fascinated by everything he was seeing. The sky was covered by clouds and wind was picking up, rustling in the trees that grew around the buildings, sheltering them from above. Everything smelled new, like exotic forest and oil. The sound of wind and birds and monkeys shrieking and heavy, metallic clunks every once in a while. The rebels didn't seem to have any official uniform, though most of them wore different camouflage fatigues and khaki-vests that had a definitive army look to them. But there were also men and women in bright red shirts, armed to the teeth. Harry asked why they were wearing such a bright colour, but Quatre looked briefly away before giving Harry a look that was a pretty good approximation of the disapproving looks Mrs. Weasley used to give Fred and George.

"Not people you should talk with. They are dangerous and unpredictable. First, I need to know about your gift," he said, gestured Harry to step inside and closed the door behind them with a click.

The shack didn't look like it was originally intended to be lived in; there was only one, narrow window near to the ceiling that cast a small box of grey light onto the floor. But it was very clean; not a dust mote could be seen, let alone sand that seemed to get everywhere here. Quatre took off his shoes and Harry did the same. There were six cots with faded blue cotton bedlinen and not much else besides the gear the Maguanacs had arranged neatly around their beds. There was however, a chair that Quatre gestured Harry to sit in. He sat, fighting the feeling of unease.

"Well, I'm a wizard," Harry started. Surely that was a safe bet. Luna could spin tales, but he had a feeling she was more the honest type. Definitely the blunt type.

"Harry, what you and Luna call magic are in fact psychokinetic and ESP abilities," Quatre interrupted him gently before he could even really start. Harry blinked, his train of thought scrambled as he tried to remember what psychokinesis and ESP were. The ability of the mind to influence matter, time, space, or energy and reception of information not gained through the recognized physical senses but sensed with the mind. That was kind of magical-sounding, but the Dursley memories of his insisted it was absolutely scientific.

"No, this really is magic," he argued.

"Your ability to teleport may have been unknown before, but that doesn't make it magical, only previously undiscovered," Quatre insisted. And really, if he wanted to believe magic didn't exist it wasn't skin off Harry's back. It _hadn't_ existed before, Harry was almost sure of that, because if there was a hidden magical society they should have been on him like white on rice after all his underage magic. And he wasn't going to explain how he had switched universes, he just wasn't. Bad enough it had happened, he didn't want to speak of it.

"If you say so," he said non-committing and if Quatre wasn't convinced Harry was convinced he let it slide.

"What are the limits of your gift and how do you use it?" Limits? That was rather vague and Harry wasn't feeling terribly confident in his ability to explain what he didn't really understand himself – any more than he understood how he moved his hand. He had a vague conception from his biology lessons about nerves and muscles and sinews, but please don't make him explain that!

"I have always succeeded at what I have tried to do eventually, except maybe potions, but that doesn't count," Harry said. He was beginning to understand why Luna was so blunt; it was a lot simpler than trying to lie and you couldn't get into trouble if people didn't believe you.

"How many people have you been able to teleport previously?" Quatre clarified is request.

"It's apparating. I have never appatated anyone before, I kind of had to learn that one in the fly. I had already made things fly and, uh, made a glass disappear. Not the kind of glass you drink from, either." It had been a big glass.

"You hadn't EVER teleported anyone? Even YOURSELF?" Quatre's voice climbed to a register that left Harry's ears ringing.

"Hey, I never needed to! And you can't say it didn't work out well," Harry defended himself hotly. Not like he had splinched anyone.

"I can hardly believe you are being honest, but you are. So you previously believed yourself only telekinetic?"

"And I made the glass disappear. As to how, I picture what I want to happen in my mind. Or rather, it's something I associate with what I want to happen, something I've got an emotional connection to. When I got to the base I was thinking of how I ended up in the roof of my old school when my cousin was chasing me. My power is usually just scattered and flowing everywhere," Harry explained and wiggled his ten fingers, so concentrated in explaining something he wasn't sure could be adequately explained that he didn't see the way Quatre's face darkened at the mention of his cousin. "Unless I'm really focused or desperate from the get-go I must first think something that makes it compact like this! But Luna is better at controlling this than I am." He slammed his hands together, fingers in between each other.

"I have talked with Duo and we have decided that helping you rescue Sirius Black and preferably also Matthew Sisulu is a good idea, because of the information they can offer, but for other reasons also. Tell me, would you be amenable to the idea of living with your godfather? Given that he is in a fit state mentally and physically to care for you, of course."

For a moment Harry was transferred to another place and time. He was scrambling in a narrow, low tunnel, Ron limping painfully somewhere in front of him, hidden by Snape's limp body Sirius was levitating and Sirius, oh Sirius, he had asked Harry to come live with him after all was cleared. The tunnel was smelling like wet ground and mildew and he had hit his head to the ceiling and Snape was hanging from nothing like a puppet and it was so dim he could barely see the hesitation in Sirius' face, the fear that Harry would say no, but… it was perfect! A moment fit to cast a thousand Patronus charms. He would get away from the horrible Dursleys for good!

Get away from the horrible Dursleys? Harry shook his head, felt relieved and terrible loss at the same moment. His family wasn't horrible, but somehow he felt something had been taken from him. The joy he had felt those few, blessed moments? Because he would have to go back to his family.

"I would love to, but my family must be beside themselves with worry," he said regretfully. Then he wondered what he was even thinking. He wasn't going to stay with Dursley's any more than he was going to stay with this Sirius because he was going to find a way to home. How could he be hesitating already? Three days and he was sold? Ready to leave Ron and – Hermione? He had thought he was a better person than that.

Quatre was looking at him with a serious expression, determined and gentle at the same time. He was silent for a long time and Harry began to fidget in his chair. It was a pretty uncomfortable chair, but it was a secret headquarters in a jungle, not a hotel. He was hot and the air smelt wet. It would probably rain soon. Harry fidgeted some more, hoping he knew what to say to make Quatre stop looking at him like that.

"I'm all right, you know," he said. That was a good all-purpose thing to say.

"I can feel you are troubled," Quatre said. "I am aware many people considerer this an invasion of privacy, but please take my word for it, this isn't something I can simply turn off. You were so happy, but then it turned into conflict, regret, even self-disgust. I believe that living with your godfather would be a good option and if he isn't in a good enough condition to care for you then we can find you a foster family."

"But I don't need a foster family, I'm adopted. It's nothing to worry about, what you felt, it's just kind of complicated. Are you a telepath or something?" Wouldn't surprise him any, his life was strange like that.

"I'm a low-level telepath, yes. I can not read your thought, only decipher your feelings." Quatre's voice was calm and stable and flatter than before

"Huh. Cool." Quatre's face twitched in a funny way and Harry thought he had maybe been anxious, thought that Harry would be mad. But he was used to odder things and at least Quatre was nice.

"Come with me," Quatre told him. "We are going to hold a little war council with Duo." And they kept miscommunicating.

* * *

Luna Lovegood was napping under a tree and getting acquainted with her other self. In her dreams there were two of her standing next to one another, smiling shyly, eyes peeking under pale lashes. There was something under their feet and the sense of existence around them, but it was nothing she could have described later; it was an unformed vision, only needing to carry the weight of the both of them.

"I am Luna Lovegood. It's nice to meet you," Luna said. The other Luna nodded sagely and took both her hands into her own. Her hands were warm and soft and her nails were very neat.

"I am Luna Lovegood also. You remember fascinating things." For a flicker of candlelight the shapeless place around then changed.

There was a grey stone castle set upon huge rocks above dark water set alight with little lantern on merry boats, like stars that weren't yet visible in the twilight sky. Hundreds of girls and boys in black robes were rushing towards the shore, slipping on the wet, green grass and splashing on the mud. Another flicker and tall walls towering over them, covered with warm, golden candles, reaching up to the ceiling that was sky full of white and purple and blue stars that seemed to swirl across the sky like the planet had really been turning, but too quick, much too quick. Then the same hall during the breakfast, owls of all sizes and colours flying over the heads of students, dropping parchments and small packets wrapped in brown paper and red and gold or green and silver or blue and bronze or yellow and black gift wrappings on their laps. Then the flickers were gone like wind had blown them out and Luna was standing with Luna on the grey again.

"I was as happy at Hogwarts as I was anywhere, happier even. But my mum and grandmum were dead and I was called Loony Lovegood," she confessed to her other self. "I didn't have any friends. But now I have Harry." Her face lit up and for a second there were two Harrys standing next to them, one in black robes and grey uniform under, the other in maroon and orange uniform.

"I am happy too; he saved my parents. But he isn't taking to this very well, is he?" Luna asked. They both wore similar clothing, dark with the bright sash around their waist, but there was a divide inside Harry. And Harry was gone, both of him frowning as they disappeared.

"Different people have different strengths. I can see things other people can't and I can… it's like air, what I can do, invisible and you can feel it when you move quickly, but not grab it, but it's _important_. Harry can do things you can see and take in your hands and that's important too. You can't live without air, but you can't live without ground either."

"I understand," Luna whispered and the dream changed. It was a school yard. The school was a simple, boring white box that had a big clock above the big glass doors and the yard in front of it had two swing sets, a slide and a playing flied where bigger boys were playing soccer. There were little boys and girls in a circle, a younger Luna standing in the middle with her eyes covered with a grey scarf. She had pigtails and red dress with maple leaves on it. One of her white socks went up to her knee and the other was ankle-length.

And Luna knew Luna then. Some things transcended worlds and lives; this Luna was a clairvoyant. There was a time when she could at any time close her eyes and tell what her friends would be getting at lunch, who would eat beans and who fish and chips, who would get ice cream for dessert and who would only have bread pudding or no dessert at all.

"Come here, come here, little bird, even though you are shy. Come here, poor bird, I have got an apple pie. So it is caught, so it is caught, so the little bird is caught!" the kids were singing, dancing around little Luna hand in hand. When the word caught ran out the last time Luna reached behind her and her hand touched the sleeve of a boy with glasses and curly, red hair. She didn't manage to grab him, but the dancing stopped and she groped until she caught his hand and slid her fingers among his.

"This is Jacob," Little Luna said and Jacob groaned as the other children clapped their hands.

"She did it again!" the rest of them were cheering. Jacob stepped in the middle of the circle and took the scarf Luna offered him.

"I always guessed who was caught. I was so good they thought I was cheating somehow and made me grab the one behind me while the others took the one before them," Luna said. Children sand and danced and, yes, when the dance stopped Jacob took the hand of a girl almost head taller than the rest of them who was standing before him. He guessed wrong.

A hand touched her shoulder gently, but insistently and the other Luna drifted into darkening nothing. Luna opened her eyes to find her mum kneeling in front of her. Her dad and grandmum were standing behind her mum. Luna couldn't see their faces because the sun was shining behind them and she had to squint her eyes, but they were making worry-humming hhhhHHhmMMmmm like a tuning fork that had been tapped against the edge of a table.

"Mr. Rashid said they would smuggle us into the L4 colony on a Sweeper ship and that we are leaving the day after tomorrow. Your friend will have to stay a little longer, but he will follow us there. They just can't keep us here too long because we are too sought after to keep so near to an Oz base," her mum said. Luna frowned.

"Something will happen," she said. She hadn't noticed before, but now that her mum was speaking of it she could almost taste it, a dash of danger like pepper and left behind like salt and Harry, like sugar, sweetened the deal. "But don't worry, I'm sure it will turn out all right," she reassured her family.

"That's nice to know, little walnut. But we would like to know how you met Harry. And what does it mean when they say you can… do things also?" her dad asked and knelt in front of her too. He was smiling, but it was the worried kind of smile that made Luna want to hug him. So she did.

"Harry's my friend because I know him and he knows me. He is a good friend, and he is good with dangers also and knows what it feels like when you are left alone. I can do things, but don't worry, Quatre's really ethical about it," she answered. She had known before she had seen him the first time that Harry hadn't been born to be safe and when she had seen him in the Great Hall the first time his eyes had been like lake yearly at spring, sun glittering on the surface, but cold deep down; sad eyes.

His dad winced and traded a helpless look with her mum. Then both of them turned to look at grandmum Calla who took a deep breath and soldiered on.

"Luna, we have noticed that you have been a little incoherent in your speech after you escaped from the London base alone. Did something happen to you that we don't know yet?" she asked.

The small crack in the clouds closed and the bright sun dimmed. Now Luna could see her grandmum and she wondered when she had turned so old. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were so deep now. Her eyes were angry like Luna was hurt.

Luna felt something cold and hurtful tightening around her chest then. The other Luna had known things also, but she hadn't known so much it took space from normal-things. _They keep their inner sight where normal people keep their common sense_,an everyday, mild, cruel voice whispered in her mind. _I'm not saying Professor Trelawney is a few quills short of a quill case ‒ she just replaced a few with tweezers and a crochet hook and those have no place in a quill case. _Her Sight had no place in her? She blinked her eyes so the tears wouldn't come and dropped her eyes to the ground.

"I'm alright. I just didn't explain myself," she said. She knew her family would always love her even if she was odder than before. They were worried because they loved her. Still, she felt like something had just been broken that could never be perfect like it was before even if it was glued back together; maybe it was an impossible dream of new-yet-same life. Her mum and grandmum were alive again, but the cracks would always show.

* * *

Quatre Winner was a patient person and originally he hadn't intended to hurry. His plan had been to send the Lovegoods on their way to the nearest Sweeper base, lay low for a little while and wait for the commotion Duo had caused to die down some, wait for Oz to relax its guard and then strike. Or possibly leave the entire thing to Duo; this was his territory and Quatre had his own to mind.

This plan hadn't survived a whole day in the Umoja base. How Duo could feel at ease with these people Quatre didn't know. He was from L2, but still.

"These people," he said to Rashid, "Are maniacs!" He was sitting on his own bed, Rashid on his own. The rest of the Maguanacs that had followed him were on their own and Duo had claimed the chair, holding a steaming hot cup of coffee and sulking because he had been made to eat nswaa again.

"They aren't that bad if you know how to handle them. Actually, I'm beginning to wonder if J did things with noradrenaline too, 'cause the redshirts kinda remind me of Heero," Duo mused, biting his lower lip. It was a very cute habit, not that Quatre had any intention of telling him so.

"Heero's that bad?" he asked and winced. Maybe that wasn't the best way to word it. Duo had, somehow, made friends with the stoic, antisocial Japanese.

Human brains made two chemicals to deal with aggression. One of them was adrenaline and it triggered the fight or flight response. It was good for emergencies, but not all that sufficient for rational thinking in a fire fight. Then there was noradrenaline that adrenaline was actually a breakdown product of. People usually didn't have all that high noradrenaline levels. Noradrenalin also acted as a neurotransmitter in the brain, making people calm and rational while firing their guns. And when those levels went through the roof, it took the safety off, the part of the human brain that could endure discomfort, the part that could hold back. That knew killing people willy-nilly wasn't a good idea. That was why they wore red shirts; a colour of danger. Stay away.

"Heero isn't bad. He's just kinda hung up on killing Relena ‒ but I'm sure he isn't really going to do it ‒ and setting his own broken bones after he jumps off buildings and stuff. He's in control." That sounded rather ominous, but then Heero wasn't shooting people because they brushed against him in a crowd. Control, yes, even if he was nowhere near normal. Then, Doctor J had to be better than whomever these people had working for them.

"Rescue itself should be fairly easy: Harry apparates in and apparates out, first with Black, then with Sisulu. Nighttime would be optional as the prisoners can counted to be found on their cells and won't be missed for several hours. The challenge is to find where Black and Sisulu's cells are."

"And Harry leaves the camp with his godfather and the Lovegoods," Quatre finished, satisfied. Earlier that day Harry had sworn to be in good enough condition already to apparate and he certainly looked healthy enough to do his part.

"Someone should follow young Harry, for safety's sake," Rashid advised him. "The cellmates of Black and Sisulu might turn violent in hopes of forcing him to free them also." He was sitting his hands clasped behind his back, leaning slightly on them. His beard was in impeccable trim and his comrades were clean-shaven; no reason to slouch off just because everyone around them seemed to be.

"So, reconnaissance tomorrow, rescue tomorrow night if we get lucky, then everybody leaves?" Duo asked. He was swinging his feet and Qatre couldn't help but notice that his socks didn't quite match; one black and one navy blue. That made his fingers itch to get him new socks, what Iria had once called maternal instinct, much to Quatre's consternation, rising its head and roaring.

"I thought you didn't mind staying here?" he asked. Duo shrugged and his braid fell from his shoulder against his chest.

"Nah, but it's been some time since I last got to bug Heero. His face is gonna freeze into a frown if I leave him alone for too long and that would be a shame. Which one goes a-spying? The other sleeps so they are sharp and ready come night." They could go on for a long time without sleeping for more than few hour here and there, but it played havoc with their reaction time.

"Master Quatre, please remember that you can delegate," Rashid pointed out. Quatre felt his cheeks heating. He didn't like sending his men out without himself. Yes, he knew how good they were, but… he was worrying too much. He was their commander, not their mother, and they had been doing this a lot longer than he had.

"Great! I'll make you a map!" Duo said and dashed out of the shack, putting his coffee mug on the chair first and shouting from the door to not drink his precious or else. The mug was black with a print of skull and crossed bones and a text: IS THERE LIFE AFTER DEATH? TOUCH MY COFFEE AND FIND OUT. Quatre smiled thinly still rather indignant and put out by the people they were amongst, but also amused by his friend's antics. Duo returned soon with a street map of Entebbe; he had to unfold in on the floor and kick Ahmed's pack out of the way, because spread out it took half the floor space.

"This is the prison," he said and drew a big, red cross over a building, like marking the treasure into a pirate's map. It was in the outskirts of Entebbe, close to pretty much nothing except bullet train tracks.

"Avoid these areas; they are turfs of local gangs." He circled seven areas of several blocks with red and scribbled names into each circle. "The Ozzies patrol here and the local coppers here." He drew black and blue lines and arrows, scribbling times here and there, making sure to mark the police stations. He marked the house of the Head of Electoral and Political Crime Department who was in league with the underground and could help if necessary and told them his own password and key phrases, and the tea shop owned by an Indian immigrant who was an informant that could be counted on to find out much about everything; she was the paid bird of a local bigwig, as Duo put it. Quatre was impressed by how many connections Duo had made and how much he had learned of the city in pretty short time. His area or not, they had to go where the enemy action was and he hadn't got to spend very much time in Europe.

Rashid, Ahmed, Azeer and Jamal were kneeled around the map, memorizing it and asking questions. Duo was pointing at things and marking more places. It looked kind of cute actually, like a little boy showing his dad and uncles his drawings, but there was no way Quatre was going to tell Duo that. Not yet anyway. It would be much funnier to wait until they met with Chang Wufei.

The light had dimmed yet outside, but it hadn't been obvious in the hars, yellow light of the shack. The sound of the first drops against the roof alarmed Quatre to the change in weather.

"I hope this shack is more waterproof than it looks," he said and glanced up. The roof wasn't corrugated iron, but made of tarred-black roofing shingles.

"Don't worry, you are gonna be fine as long as you don't go outside. I hate weather," Duo complained and shivered. Then he gave the Maguanacs a gleeful grin. "But I'm not the one who's gonna go out tonight!" And he left the map with them, cheerfully cackling as he ran through the rain towards his barracks.

"It's nice to see he finds humour in small things," Quatre said serenely and suppressed a yawn. He was still tired, as a child of the colonies he disliked rain as much as your next person and while he wasn't going to say it he was also grateful he didn't need to sneak out into the city, hack into anything that night.

* * *

Harry Dursley was dreaming. He was wandering down a dark hall, the night silent around him; the only sounds his own footsteps and breathing. High stone walls towered around him, pillars and stone arcs that carried the ceiling far above him. Moonlight came in from high, narrow, ornate windows, bathing everything in deep, dark blue, casting silvery lines under the windows. Harry didn't know where he was, but he felt safe, comfortable. He had been in this castle before, he was sure of it, he just couldn't recall when. He then came to a door, reached for it with a hand that was holding something – only to see is hand appear from out of nothing at all. He looked down upon himself and couldn't see himself. Yet the strange feeling of calm and right didn't leave him, but he felt silly for having forgotten.

"Alohomora," he whispered and the door opened, accompanied by soft light. He stepped inside and let the cloak fall from his shoulders. Yes, that was what he had forgotten. Its lining was softly glowing silvery-white and when he turned it inside out and draped the cloak around him he became invisible. Of course. How could he have forgotten his first real Christmas present ever?

(His first real Christmas present ever?)

He had entered an unused classroom, and only now Harry remembered that he was in his school. He was being really absentminded that night, he though and walked towards with a sense of purpose. He had come to see something. There, in front of a window niche, stood a mirror.

(But this wasn't Smeltings…)

The mirror was taller than Harry was. It was shaped like the doors in the castle, its frame made of bronze or something bronze-coloured and it looked like it hadn't been dusted for quite some time. There was some carving inscribed across the top of the frame and Harry had to come so close his nose almost touched the glass and stand on tiptoes to read it in the dark room.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

He stepped back and stared into the mirrors' depths. At first it was only his own reflection that stared back, but then, without a ripple and flash or any preamble the vision shifted. It showed the same classroom, in broad daylight, and there were a girl and a boy standing next to him. The girl had bushy brown hair, brown eyes and rather large front teeth, the boy had fiery red hair and a freckled complexion, blue eyes, a long nose and he was lanky with big hands and big feet. They both had wrapped their arms around Harry's shoulders and were laughing, not like they had just heard something funny, but like they were just so happy they couldn't not laugh. Harry could almost feel their arms touching him, but he didn't dare to turn to look in fear of the vision disappearing. He slowly moved his right hand atop the boy's arm, but while in the mirror he touched it he felt it touch his shoulder. Just a mirage. He felt like his heart had just broken.

Harry blinked his eyes, trying to keep from crying, but his vision became blurry. What was wrong with him? He felt like he had just lost his best friends.

(Ibie was his friend, and Lai and Zoe and Mike. Who were these people?)

_I show you not your face but your heart's desire._

A new person walked into the mirror; a man with gaunt, sunken face, waxy skin, yellow teeth, and long, matted hair; Harry thought he looked as a corpse might look. But he was smiling brilliantly at him and Harry smiled back at his godfather. Of course, his godfather! Now he just had to get out of this castle and into Uganda so he could save Sirius. Maybe the girl and the boy in the mirror would help him.

The room brightened and when Harry turned the girl and the boy were standing there, talking animatedly. Sirius wasn't there because he was in prison, but there was a boy Harry hadn't seen in the mirror, a round-faced boy with a short, plump build and blond hair. They were all carrying books and parchment, talking about school work.

"I'll tell you, Hermione, our DADA teacher's completely useless. Pixies!" the red-haired boy complained to the girl.

"He isn't that bad, he just expects us to learn things on our own!" the girl defended. "And Neville, you shouldn't tell anyone you are a Parselmouth or people are going to get weird on you."

"Hey, do you remember me? Will you help me?" Harry asked, but the group didn't seem to notice him at all. He asked again, louder, but they still didn't react. Dread building in his stomach Harry walked to them and tried to touch the plum boy, but his hand went through him like they were ghosts. Or like he was the ghost. But now the girl, Hermione, turned to look at him and her contemptuous brown eyes pierced his heart.

"We don't need you anymore, Harry Potter. We have found a better Boy Who Lived."

Her words cut like a knife. Harry turned desperately towards the mirror, hoping to see her smiling to him there, but the only thing he saw inside was a blood red stone.

Harry Potter's eyes opened and his breath hitched. He was warm under covers in the warm African night, but he was drenched in cold sweat and shivering all over. He sat up and looked frantically around, but the Lovegood family he was sharing the sleeping accommodations with were still sleeping soundly; he hadn't made a sound, thank Merlin. The soft rattle of rain against the roof made of corrugated iron filled his skull. Harry dropped back on his back, unable to remain in a sitting position.

I show you not your face, but your heart's desire. Hermione, how could you?

Harry didn't cry. He felt like crying, but his obstinate eyes remained dry and he stared at the ceiling, wondering what to do. He _wanted_ to return to his own world, wanted to be friends with Ron and Hermione again, wanted to see his Sirius and prove him innocent. But he didn't want to return to the evil Dursleys, not after he had lived with the nice ones. Even if it was only in the memories he hadn't lived. And this Sirius still needed saving, his Sirius was at least free. And he had Ibie and the gang here, they were his friends. But he didn't love them nearly as much as he loved Ron and Hermione because, now he understood it, Harry Dursley had always taken being loved for granted. Harry Potter loved his friends like a drowning man loved air. But Luna was here; Luna had followed him and that had to mean something, right? And Quatre was a friend of a kind also and he needed help with the war, never mind what he said. He wanted to go home and he wanted to know where his home was.

"What a mess you got me into, Hermione," he whispered, his voice sounding rough in his ears. He wouldn't have believed he could feel sleepy after a dream like that one, but he felt wrung out, exhausted, spent inside and out, and when he closed his eyes just for a second he drifted into thankfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

AN: Real life and college has attacked my beta reader with extreme prejudice and she has handed in her notice. Thank you to MakalaMea for her hard job! I appreciate what you have done for me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VI: Peter Pan**** and Wendy**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

When Harry Dursley was a small boy Peter Pan was is favourite story. He liked the animation and when he was a little older he liked the live action movie, but his all-time favourite was the book because it was so much longer, had so many things the movies didn't. He loved the pirates and mermaids and Indians, but one part had made him sad.

In the book Peter Pan told Wendy that when he had been seven days old he had heard his parents discussing what he would become when he grew up and flown out of the window of his London home and into the Kensington Gardens, where he had lived with fairies. Eventually the fairies helped him to fly back home, but the window to his old bedroom had been closed and another child had been sleeping in his bed.

"That's wrong! His mum should have waited for him," little Harry had protested. His mum had tucked him under his Peter Pan blanket and kissed his forehead.

"Don't worry, Harrykins, if you fly out of the window your mum Petunia will always keep it open. No other children will sleep in your bed." She had touched his cheek and left the room, shut the lights so only his green dinosaur night light had remained.

In the end Harry hadn't been terribly upset. It had been just a story and in his childish way he had realized that if the mother had kept the window open Peter Pan would have returned home and not gone to Never-Never-Land, and where would the story have been then? No fairies and no mermaids, no crocodile that had swallowed an alarm clock. What would have happened to the Lost Boys if they hadn't gone to Never-Never-Land with him? Who would have saved Tiger Lily from Captain Hook? And Wendy and John and Michael wouldn't have gotten to adventure at all!

So no, Harry hadn't been terribly upset, but he had thought that _his_ mum was a lot better than Peter Pan's mum.

Harry felt he had barely closed his eyes at all when the sounds of the Lovegoods moving around woke him up. He groaned and sat up, blinking owlishly. Think positive thoughts, he told himself. Tonight he would save Sirius and help the rebels against the tyrannical regime and then he would get to go back home since Quatre didn't seem to think he needed to hide from Oz with him. He would see his family again, and his friends. He was sure he would find a way to see Sirius and Luna later, with vidphone if he couldn't go to visit them. But all that positive thinking didn't make him feel very much better and besides, what would he tell his mum and dad and the police when they asked where he had been? It wasn't like he could tell them the truth.

He looked around, hoping to find something to hide behind so he could change into his clothes, but of course no big furniture had appeared during the night to preserve his modesty so he pressed his clothes against his chest and darted into the WCs they shared with the rest of the barrack and dressed hastily there.

That was an experience in and of itself. It wasn't a real WC – a water closet – at all, but a dry toilet where there was no waste of water for flushing because the excreta were composted. And it wasn't an elegant, clinical system like could be found from many public buildings, especially in areas with water shortage, but a home-made one where the toilet unit had been made of wood and the tank wasn't several stories underground. The toilet looked very clean, the floor was scrubbed and there were new towels and an enameled bowl and a jug full of water for cleaning your hands, but that didn't get rid of the smell and Harry didn't linger, hoping he would get to move somewhere with real toilets soon. His clothes felt vaguely sweaty and dirty, but here people didn't change clothes every day just because they had worn them the day before and so Harry emerged from the small cubicle a little shabby, but ready to start the day.

The day would start whether he was ready or not. He was well aware he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Luna was already gone when he returned but her family was there and when Harry entered the room they all turned to look at him. At first they didn't say anything and that silent guard was making Harry itch to get away. They were all pale and blond – at least Luna's grandmum had been blond before she had started to gray – and Luna resembled them quite a lot, but they lacked her serene, airy expression he was beginning to like.

"Harry Dursley, we would like to thank you for your assistance in our rescue and for helping Luna when she ran away," Mr. Lovegood said solemnly. Harry felt blood rushing to his cheeks and scuffled the floor with his foot, not knowing where to put his eyes.

"I'm happy I could help," he mumbled. Merlin, he thought, please don't let them ask where I know Luna from, pretty please. He was very conscious of the open door behind his back. But that wasn't what the Lovegoods were thinking at all.

"How did Luna seem to you when she came upon you? Was she hurt or distressed?" Mrs. Lovegood asked. Her lips looked like she had been chewing on them.

"She was fine, though she was very worried for you. She had to be cold since she was only wearing the coat and the hospital gown under it and bunny slippers, but she didn't come down with anything." Harry tried to remember, but nothing specific came to mind. He could remember the chill seeping under his skin and was grateful of the heat of this country. He had never been a fan of cold weather.

"Harry… May we call you Harry?" older Mrs. Lovegood asked and Harry nodded. "Luna has been acting strangely, but she will not talk to us about what bothers her. Could you see if she would talk to you?" she pleaded with him. Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with Luna, but he had only known her for two days. Her parents had to know better. What if the ozzies had done something to her, something bad?

"I will do anything I can to help," he promised and Luna's parents smiled to him.

"This is a nasty situation to you, but selfishly I am glad you were with Mr. Winner when Luna happed upon you. She needs someone she can relate to, someone her age who isn't a soldier. I hope things will work out with your parents," Mr. Lovegood said.

"So do I," Harry muttered and tied his shoe laces, leaving in search of Luna.

He found her sitting under a tree, playing cat's cradle with a red string. Harry paused his stride, trying to understand how she had managed to make a Manger without help from another person. It was a difficult one even with four hands… oh, yeah. Magic. Silly him. He walked up to her and she lifted her face from her hands, smiling to him She still didn't look like anything was bothering her.

"Can I sit with you?" he asked. Luna tilted her head to the side and quirked her eyebrow.

"I don't know. Can you?" she asked. Harry took that as permission and sat beside her, cross-legged. Luna offered the red string, still looped around her fingers, towards Harry. It looked a little like her hands had been bound together. "This isn't very fun alone," she said. Harry took hold of the string.

"What will we make?" he asked, wondering if he would remember any figures. The last time he had done this had been in kindergarten.

"Diamonds come after the Manger," Luna said. And they started.

Harry moved from below and grabbed the two crossed strings with his thumb and forefinger, pulling them out away from the centre of the figure. His forehead bumped into Luna's as he leaned closer, trying to remember what to do next. The tip of Luna's tongue was peeking between her lips.

"Move thumbs and forefingers over the near and far straight strings on my hands and pick them up and remove the strings from my hands," Luna almost whispered. Harry nodded and carefully did as instructed, ending with Diamonds in his hands.

"Are you alright? I mean, your parents are worried for you, but you seem fine to me, but they would know the best. You can talk to me if there's something wrong," he said and frowned. "The next one is Cat's eye, right?"

"There is nothing wrong with me, I am just different from what I used to be. I am more and they have noticed," Luna said matter-of-factly, but her voice was very sad and she blinked her eyes like she was trying to keep tears away. Her eyes had dropped back to the string and they didn't leave it.

"First we go back to the Manger," she advised. Doing the same thing backwards was very difficult, but they ended with the string in Luna's hands again. She spoke Harry through it, transferring the diagonal strings to his little fingers and pulling them out away from the centre of the figure. Slowly he went down and through his little finger nooses and picked up the centre straight strings on thumbs and forefingers, removing the strings from Luna's hands again. Harry noticed she kept her nails very short and neat, and her fingers were long and nimble. She was a lot better at the game than he was.

"I'm sorry," he said. People had worried when he had fainted, but no one had noticed yet that he was more than he used to be. He wasn't sure if he was happy about it or not.

Then he thought about something. Luna had come through after him, right? He wasn't quite sure why she had been kicked out of their dimension, unless she'd had a time turner too, and he didn't think a first year could have enough classes to need one or that anyone but Hermione could be obsessed enough about classes like that. But she had come through and she had come through after him so that should mean she knew how things were back home.

"How are Ron and Hermione, back home? And my… mum and dad?" It still felt strange, thinking of them as being well and alive. A little happy, but also monumentary unfair. They were alive and he hadn't even gotten to say hi!

Luna moved down from above and grabbed the crossed strings and then picked up the diagonal strings.

"Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger met Neville Longbottom on the Hogwarts' train, him and his white owl Polaris. They were to be the best friends with him, you see. The stones remember and even the stars sing their names together. They saved the useless rock from Voldemort together and Neville saved Ron's little sister from the basilisk and a wicked, wicked diary," Luna said. Harry felt like his heart was being torn in two. He was happy they were alive and everything had gone well, but they really hadn't needed him, had they? Another boy had been just as good. (Maybe even better, a small, mean voice whispered, but he didn't want to listen to it.) And he missed Hedwig. It was a little thing compared to everything else he had lost, but she had been his friend and he missed her. But she wasn't even Hedwig anymore, she was Polaris.

Luna opened her mouth once more, hesitated and looked him in the eye. Her eyes weren't very beautiful, but they sure were soulful.

"Your dad and mum have two children, Helen and Harry. I'm very, very sorry." Luna tried to take the strings from Harry's hands, but his fingers twitched in shock and the red string slipped from them, hanging limp from Luna's.

It felt like a punch to the stomach. Helen wasn't so bad, but Harry… His mum and dad had another Harry. His mum and dad had another Harry who had lived with them his whole life and whom they had read fairy tales and let sleep with them when he was small and had nightmares, who had gotten his own room in the house he had never even seen and presents every birthday. He wasn't even thinking who his godfather was because he didn't want to know. His mum and dad had another Harry, they had replaced him with another boy. Harry knew he was just torturing himself, but he couldn't help wondering how much like him the other Harry was. Did he have dad's face and hair and mum's eyes, or did he look different? Did he like Quidditch too and was he good at it? Was his owl named Hedwig?

"Another boy is sleeping in my bed," he forced out between his teeth. Now he felt like crying, but he wasn't going to cry in front of Luna, out in the open where anyone could see, he _wasn't_.

Luna touched the back of his hand and she had this look, like she understood. She should understand, she had switched over also. And Harry wondered if he was up to hearing an explanation for that when the tears started running down his cheeks. He stuffed his fist to his mouth to keep from crying out loud. Luna draped her arms around him and it felt very nice and warm. Harry wasn't used to people holding him when he was crying. He hadn't had anyone to hold him, or he'd been too proud to cry in front of anyone. Whichever.

_Don't worry, Harrykins, if you fly out of the window your mum Petunia will always keep it open. No other children will sleep in your bed_

At least mum Petunia still loved him, and dad Vernon. And if he didn't return, couldn't return, to his own world he wouldn't ever see Ron and Hermione again… but if he returned he wouldn't see mum Petunia and dad Vernon and Dudley.

That thought shocked his eyes dry, halted the trembling breath in his chest. Return to his own world? Yes, but wasn't this his own world too, his other own world? And it wasn't like it was all horrible or anything, he had a family and no one had ever tried to kill him, that had to count for something. But Ron and Hermione and Hedwig and Hogwarts and Sirius and Professor Lupin and Hagrid and the Wealeys… But his mum and dad and brother. And no Voldemort, or Professor Snape.

"I hate my life." What had he done to deserve all this crap? Nothing in this one, that was for sure, and if reincarnation was true he had to have been a serial puppy killer in his last life.

"I'm your friend, Harry, like Wendy. You won't be alone." Luna's voice was nice and soothing and it helped Harry calm himself down enough to give a little laugh. It was pretty miserable laugh, but he was trying.

"The useless rock?" He wondered if his face was as incredulous as he thought it was. The Philosopher's stone was the greatest magical artifact ever and she called it useless. And Luna allowed him to change the topic.

"Gold is so valuable because it's so rare. If you could just make gold like that its value would plummet down to the bottom of the ocean with sharks and other fish and that's why people are forbidden from transform thing into gold." That made sense, in a fairy tale murdering way. It probably was like forgery, only worse, but it felt terribly cynical to think of it like that. Magic really should be excused from nasty realities like that, or what was the idea of magic?

"And the part about eternal life?" he asked.

"Who wants to live forever?" Luna asked right back. It startled Harry; he hadn't expected that kind of attitude from her.

"I'm guessing you don't," he tried to jest, but it fell flat to even his own ears.

"Death isn't really the end but the seed of some other life and if there is no death there can be no other life and that's just selfish. It doesn't matter if you are speaking of the laws of nature or the laws of magic or the laws of gods, immortality breaks them all." Her face was deadly serious. Aren't gods supposed to live forever, Harry almost asked, but then decided that if Luna had some wisdom to shed on that matter he didn't want to know.

* * *

Duo was the one responsible for co-ordinating their plan with those of the local Umoja to ensure they wouldn't collide, crash and burn. It was maybe inevitable that Bakwa would hear the magical words Entebbe Prison and jailbreak through the grapevine and latch onto them like a pit bull. Surely, she said, it wouldn't be that big a trouble to free three people instead of two.

He was walking between two buildings, minding his own business, when a blur of dark skin and green clothes literally jumped out of the window next to him. Duo almost decked her out of sheer surprise, because letting people jump at you out of windows wasn't a good trait in his line of work. There were two men, one who Duo knew was a captain, but didn't have any sign of rank on his uniform-wannabe, who stuck their heads out of the window to watch after her, looking bemused.

"I'm sorry, _something something_ Entebbe prison _something_ Habib _something something_," she rambled in Swahili, too quick for Duo to decipher. "Come with me," she then said to him and proceeded to drag him further away from the window.

"You have my arm so I guess I'll have to," Duo deadpanned. The gable of the building had no windows and that was where Bakwa took him.

"I have heard you are going to break two men out of prison," she begun and Duo thought that he should have known to expect this.

"Emphasis on two," he answered. Bakwa opened her mouth, her eyes narrowing, but the impending explosion was staled by a shrieking noise and a tree branch that was thrown to their direction. Duo looked up and on the roof of the building, under the small trees planted there, was a monkey with black fur with long white mantle, whiskers and beard around the face and a bushy white tail, shrieking at them with its teeth bared. He drew his gun and the monkey turned tail and fled; it had learned what these pieces of metal did.

Duo was not a nature person. Rain, dense, sticky clay clinging to his feet and a twilight world of vast buttress roots and dangling lianas were like out of some cartoon, except cartoons were fun. The closest he had become to forest before Operation Meteor had been a public park in L2 and a simulated survival training course in a secret colony base. It had soon become clear that gravity was his greatest enemy in Uganda; eat your heart out, Oz. Much of the ground he had to trek to leave the camp was covered in fallen leaves, but the clear bits of earth were often as slippery as glass and the smooth soles of his pilot boots slid away on the mildest slope.

"My man," Bakwa spoke, getting back on track.

"We don't even know where his cell is," Duo protested and stood with his feet a little wider apart, concentrating on attitude, taking more space than his body actually required.

"You are going to do it anyway. Surely one more person can't be that big a challenge for a hotshot colonist with a giant penis extension," Bakwa practically spat at him.

"You might not wanna piss off the guy with the penis extension you are asking help from," Duo pointed out. True, her critique wasn't gonna stomp on his self-esteem like a Leo on an ant farm, but then that was probably as witty as Bakwa was feeling up to then.

He was torn. On one hand, while Bakwa might not have been a pleasant person she was an ally and in theory this would be the easiest jailbreak ever: port in, port out, big payout for very little risk. On the other hand, they needed to know the location of the man's cell and the person taking that risk was a kid. A good kid too; Duo had done his share of hiding in high schools and he wasn't into rubbing elbows with the privileged and sheltered and shallow thing at all, but Harry was plain nice. The kind of nice who gave milk to stray cats and helped little old ladies over the street and broke his heart every time he saw a beggar and put himself to danger for his friends.

So he took her to meet Harry. Bakwa's face made a funny twitch when she realized that Harry was the one who would decide whether or not her Habib would be a free man in a very short while – and what a funny twitch it was! – but she quickly schooled her face to polite, if desperately hungry smile and asked a lot nicer than she had asked from Duo. And he couldn't help but root for her just a bit.

Harry looked down for some reason, his face oddly still and his eyes keeping to slip downcast, but when Bakwa said "help" and "rescue" it was like someone had turned a switch inside him. His mouth took a determined line and Duo could have sworn his eyes were shining. He guessed they had hit his magical words now; Harry really was too nice for his own good.

"Who is he?" Harry asked.

"Sergeant Bakwa's sweetheart. His name's Habib," Duo answered. Bakwa snorted at this.

"Habib's a pet name. It means beloved," she said regally. Duo coughed and Bakwa gave him a suspicious look, but he did his best innocent beaming, courtesy of watching Quatre do the same, all the while imagining Bakwa and her lover exchanging pet names like Cuddles and Huggalump. He wondered which one of them would be Huggalump.

"His name is Esther," Bakwa said and glared at Duo, daring him to laugh or mock, but while Duo could understand why he would rather go by Habib than that he wasn't laughing at all. Because while it might have been another man named Esther he doubted many parents were that cruel.

He had never met the man himself, only heard Howard speaking of him, but he hadn't forgotten, because, _Esther_. Esther Corel had originally been the Black family employ and sent off to L1, but he had been converted into the original Heero Yuy brand of pacifism and social justice and severed ties. Howard had mentioned a woman, now that Duo thought about it, but not by name. Esther had joined the Sweepers and gotten his soft, dainty hands properly dirty, but he'd had some kind of dirt on Walburga Black and disappeared after he was situated dirtside, in Kampala.

"Well, well, isn't this a funny coincidence?" he asked and grinned. So the cell proved to not be a problem after all. He already had a reputation as a joker here, he knew that, and back among the Sweepers they called him "the nice one" behind his back, not that they had anyone to compare him to except Heero and anyone would have been the nice one to Heero's scary kid. And still they would have backed off at the grin he gave Bakwa and Harry – a little manic, a lot wild – because a Gundam pilot was still a Gundam pilot and Duo was Shinigami, all the way. Or at least half a way when he wasn't suited up.

Bakwa's hands were fisted, but she didn't back down and Harry just snorted, his sidelong smile fond and not fooled at all. He _liked_ Harry.

* * *

All children must grow up, Harry thought. All except for one. Luna had said she was Wendy, but in a way Harry felt like John or Michael rather than Peter Pan. He'd had his adventure in his own Never-Never-Land, Hogwarts, a place full of magic and beauty. Far away, past the second star to the right and straight on till morning, a great castle stood by the clearest lake imaginable. In the old, wild forest next to it great spiders and centaurs fought their war like the Indians and pirates and real unicorns shone silver and white like moonlight shadows. Like Never-Never-Land it had been dangerous at times, but everything had always ended well. But now the adventure had ended and he had return to home to grow up, only this was where the metaphor got muddled up because this was one half home and one half war-movie-of-your-choice meets Power Rangers in Space.

His heart was torn in two. On one hand he was happy the time to rescue Sirius – and Sisulu and Esther of course – had finally come, on the other he had been replaced. By his dead parents.

"We will have to hike through the jungle until we reach the road and the secret motor pool," said Quatre. "It is elementary that we are not discovered. We will leave the country immediately after; Duo will link into Sandrock and the Maguanacs' mobile suits and bring them. I assume you have never been to a jungle before?"

The afternoon sun was beating down on them, but there were clouds covering half of the sky. This created a peculiar kind of light that seemed to be bright and dim at the same time, the colours more deep. People with coffee-coloured skin were busy being busy, bustling around carrying things and talking about things in a language Harry didn't understand. A group of ten had left the headquarters half an hour before, a group of five had returned ten minutes ago, one man being carried by two others on makeshift stretcher, his right leg bandaged and splattered in deep red. Harry felt strangely distant, like he was watching it all from a television and it was happening to someone else entirely.

"No, I have only been to France," he answered the question he had been asked. The most difficult thing there had been trying to decipher the menus and not order snails or frogs.

"As you trek, use a staff to part branches and leaves, if possible; you never know what's in them. Walk around logs rather than climbing over them; this will conserve energy and avoid potential injury. Be careful of where you step, Duo has told me that some parts of the ground are very slippery." He handed Harry the staff. It felt nice in his hand, reminding him of Smeltings, but at the same time it added new pang to his already hurting heart. Ibie was going to murder him when she realized he hadn't been in any real danger because she was bound to be a total wreck now and the same went for the rest of his friend. And _what_ was he going to tell them?

"I will be alright," he said, but Quatre didn't look the least bit convinced. Harry was beginning to see why Quatre had thought that he would be freaked out by his empathy. It was hard to keep up brave face when the other party knew you were lying, kind of. He really was going to be okay, he just needed some time to think things through. There had to be some way back and once he found it he would decide.

Rashid and his Maguanacs were hovering behind Quatre's back and looking definitely less than pleased. Because the Lovegoods would need to be escorted safely away also they would have to split and Quatre would only have two men with him. He had said that he could handle himself and any problem that that might occur and Harry believed him, but his men didn't seem as convinced.

"We will have to talk once this is over," Quatre said and Harry was beginning to understand why Uncle Vernon had once said that those were the scariest words in existence.

"Of course," he muttered. The dirt seemed suddenly very interesting.

"Lets get started, then. We may not be on a tight schedule now, but the longer between the rescue and the morning the better it will be." And so the Maguanacs split and Harry's group walked towards the lush jungle.

A small part of him couldn't help being exited at the thought of trekking through a real jungle. France was nothing compared to that after all, though he had a feeling that Forbidden Forest still had it beat hands down. A bigger part of him still felt funny, like he wasn't there for real at all. Things happened and he was letting them happen. Sun was beating down on him hotter than ever in England and the language people were speaking was all wrong, but he had a feeling that if he closed his eyes and opened them again he would find himself back home and all this would have been just strange dream. His eyes slid closed, the day dimmed in his eyes, but at the last moment he opened them, berating himself. He really didn't think he could apparate all the way back, but he didn't think that would keep his recalcitrant magic from trying either.

"Harry!" a lilting voice sounded, stopping him dead on his tracks. He turned around and saw Luna running towards them across a field, her footsteps making little dust clouds. Somehow the world seemed to shift even though nothing changed, because the colours were less caramel bright and the sounds not so echoing-clear. It was like his head had been stuffed full of cotton and he hadn't realized before it was cleared, which was odd, because Luna should have made things more strange, not less.

She reached his side and leaned on her knees, panting a little, before straightening and taking his hand. Her palm was sweaty and slippery.

"You aren't going to be alone. We will meet soon," she promised. "We will fly away together." All haste had disappeared from her face now and her voice was even and dreamy.

"Take care of yourself," Harry said awkwardly. He had never been good at goodbyes. His eyes shifted a little behind Luna, into a darker spot on the dirt, a dark reddish-brown spot, and he turned his eyes back into hers quickly, something churning in his stomach nastily. Seeing the man hadn't shaken him, but now…

"I will." She bent her back slightly so she could whisper to Harry's ear: "One day Luna Lovegood grew wings and flew away. She soared higher and higher, laughing and smiling, until she was nothing but a small speck far away. She was laughing because that's how flying works, you see." And she turned around and walked away without a word, without looking back.

"We should continue," Quatre said, not unkindly and Harry realized he probably thought they were dating or something. That was an odd thought. He couldn't imagine dating someone like Luna. She was just too… Luna. But she was a good mate and he was happy she was Luna, even if he couldn't for the dear life of him tell when she meant something special and when she was just being strange.

Far away, past the second star to the right and straight on till morning, there was a green island. In its bays beautiful mermaids basked on sunny rocks and combed their glowing locks and occasionally a ship with a skull flag would sail by. In its jungles Lost Boys and Indians were eternally tracking down each other. In an Ugandan jungle Harry was walking between Quatre and Rashid, without a clue how grown up he was, and yet childish, trapped in that uncomfortable time in between. He remembered Luna's promise and walked with a small smile on his lips, without a clue that once he was older and wiser he would think that he had lost his world, but preserved his Never-Never-Land by leaving it before Voldemort could return, the shining memory of it never dimmed by an adventure that didn't end happily after all.

For Never-Never-Land was for children and what should children know of death?

* * *

Entebbe Prison wasn't such a terrible place to do time, all things considered; it wasn't a cold, drafty, doomy castle on a misty, doomy island guarded by soul-sucking creatures without amenities beyond a bed and a chamber pot. The pride of Uganda prison system, it had two gyms, labs to study and work in and a library, a chapel and a small synagogue for worship and educational areas in which offenders could take GED or some college or vocational courses. Still, being sentenced for life when he had committed no crime made Sirius was miserable and furious.

He had lost everything. James and Lily were dead and he didn't believe for a second it had been a coincidence that they had been in a fatal car accident the very same day he had been arrested. He didn't even know who his godson was living with, probably with Lily's sister, and he had no hope of ever seeing him again. Mathilda was dead. He had _loved_ her, but he had always put off telling her and now she was dead and he could never confess. He had lost everything.

A hand balled into a fist thumped lightly the back of his head, interrupting his train of thought.

"You are brooding again," Matthew Sisulu said, walking beside him. "If you aren't careful your face is going to freeze into that frown." The metal grating rattled under their feet and the one over then rattled under other steps, letting shadows walk over them. Sirius laced his hands tightly together, fighting the urge to bang his head against the wall.

"Thank you. That would be a terrible thing to happen," he said.

"No problem," Matthew preened, Sirius' sarcasm sliding right off his cheer. His mood was like a force field, Sirius mused darkly to himself, watching Matthew's springy steps. Even after loosing his freedom and his sister the man had faith. One day the Alliance's tale would be over and they would be freed, the man thought, and that was what allowed him to keep his good cheer and get over his grief.

He hadn't lost everything after all, Sirius reminded himself. He still had his almost-brother in all his irritating and lovable glory. Matthew wasn't the kind of person you ever had to wonder about, whether he really meant what he said or if you could lean on him and not topple him over. They probably had his face next to the word dependable in the dictionary.

He nodded his farewell to Matthew at the door of his cell and stepped in. It was a sturdy metal door with a small one-way window that doubled as a mirror on the inside. With a clang the door shut behind him and Sirius sighed a little and nodded to his cellmate, sitting on his bunk and taking a book from the bedside tray. He had used to think of prison cells as dim, but this one was all claustrophobic white and chrome hues, with white walls, white floor, white ceiling with two beds and bed trays, a table, a sink and a toilet bolted to the wall. It was bare, it was never quite dark even in the middle of the night and it still reminded Sirius of some of the alien abduction movies he had seen.

"Yet another fascinating day at school. Did you know that S-N curves are derived from tests on samples of the material to be characterized where a regular sinusoidal stress is applied by a testing machine?" Esther Corel asked him, leaning back on his elbows on his own bed.

The tall, thin man was a fellow political prisoner, but still a fairly new acquaintance to Sirius. Till very recently the Chief Officer in charge of the prison had been in favour of allowing the political prisoners as little contact with each other as possible to keep them from attempting "criminal conspiracy", however they were supposed to manage that from behind bars. But two months ago the old Chief Officer had retired and the new one had decided that the less the enemies of state had to do with other prisoners the better lest they spread the disease. So Sirius had been assigned Esther for new cell mate.

"Not before now," Sirius answered. Eshter gave him a crooked grin.

"I did. Not that they cared when I told them that testing materials for high-cycle fatigue used to be part of my job," he said. He wasn't that dark-skinned, closer to latte than black coffee, but even he looked very dark a figure against the distressingly white walls.

"Typical," said Sirius. "No reason to make us learn something useful when we won't be in a position to make use of it.

He wasn't an expert on prisons. He hadn't exactly led a desperate life of crime before...well, _before._ He still thought the whole "higher learning" program he had been signed for was a joke; it was for the guys who wouldn't be seeing the world outside the gates in this lifetime and shouldn't make bets for the next one either, not to mention he already had higher learning than anything this place could offer. It was just one thing among many to try to keep the inmates distracted and busy and a transparent one at that.

Matthew had been lucky enough to get into the work program. Political prisoner or not, the man couldn't help it if he had reliable tattooed on his forehead. They'd had him bouncing around from job to job before the first two months were over, wherever a body would fit. It had gotten him a few funny looks – people were generally expected to prove their good behavior _before_ getting the plush assignments, not after – but that was the kind of person he was. Sirius, well, he had lost a lot of weight and let his hair grow out. Matthew told him that his eyes often had a borderline maniacal glow to them at times. All in all, he wasn't the kind of person a smart guard would hand a power tool to.

The book he had at hand was named In the Clear. It was a humorous whodunit of a brother and a sister, Kintu and Innocence Kalyango, who were sure that the owner of the Queen of Shaba casino boat was flushing raw sewage into Lake Victoria – but they had no proof. With the help of Innocence's ex-friend, a cook named Tibby, they set to gather that proof and sink the crooked little casino business once and for all. It was pretty fun book, with deadbeat dialogue and an extremely eccentric cast of minor characters. Sirius was lost in a side plot about Jesus Lucky, a good-for-nothing journalist who was searching for the story that would make him big, but managed to completely miss everything important by chasing after a dead small-time politician's pop-singer widow who was using the occasion of her husband's death to further her own career. That was when the lights started to dim.

"Oh, hell," he swore. "Can't they bloody well let us decide when we go to bed?" He put on the bookmark and set the book back on the bed tray.

"I assume that was a rhetoric question," Esther said wryly and put down his own book. Sirius thought of his life and then the book he was reading.

'_Everyone believes things can be resolved by just talking them out when there aren't any problems,' Innocence said. 'That's like being a vegetarian between meals.'_

Sirius changed into his pyjamas and washed his teeth. Then he climbed into his bed and stared up to the featureless, white ceiling. There he recited in his mind every wrong that had been done unto him: Mathilda's death, James and Lily's death, his imprisonment, that he hadn't seen Harry grow up, hadn't been allowed to contact Remus, the guard who had singled him out and the beating he had gotten and month of segregation he had been put into when he had punched that unbearably smug grin off the man's face. These were the big things. Then there were a hundred small things, from the way they weren't allowed to decide when to go to sleep or shower or eat or goddammit anything, to the cheap, rubbery-tasting tooth paste they were given and the white walls. He gathered all his rage to his heart and fanned the flames, not letting himself forget or forgive, not giving an inch. One day, he was sure, he would get his chance and he would take it.

'_Everyone believes things can be resolved by just talking them out when there aren'__t any problems. That's like being a vegetarian between meals.' _It was a good quote.

After ten more minutes the light dimmed further into the closest approximation the prison had for dark. Sirius felt his anger slipping away from him as he slipped closer to sleep. There was a brief flash of bright and painful frustration when he thought that tomorrow would be a new day and it would be just like today had been, and yesterday and any given day, but that too went away as sleep took him. And groggy, he was groggy and startled when a **crack **awakened him, made his eyes open. It was like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. He turned his head and sat up, startled. There were two shapes standing in the middle of the cell, a big and a small one.

It was a dream, it had to be, he thought as he sat up, wondering what he should say. The door was closed. Also, the big shape turned out to be woman-shaped and the small shape was a child and there were neither in Entebbe prison. He opened his mouth to say something probably unintelligent and the child said something probably coherent, but the squeal of the woman drowned them both out as she leaped on top of barely awakened Esther. He made a pained sound, but the woman paid that no heed. She kissed him passionately, running her hands through his hair, and Sirius thought this had to be the strangest dream he had seen in a while… except now that he was getting more and more "awake" it felt less and less a "dream."

"Sirius? I'm Harry," the boy said with a shy voice and walked up to his bed. He reached to touch him, but let his hand drop down then, almost vibrating with tenseness. But Sirius could only think of one thing.

"Harry Potter?" he asked. His baby godson? Not so baby anymore, of course… and this had to be a dream. There was no way Harry would appear into his cell in the middle of the night.

"But it is a nice dream," he said wistfully, making Harry smile. Even in the dim room it was a blinding smile.

"You are rescued!" he declared. And then, unexplainably: "Dudley!"

Sirius was squeezed through something. He couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, but he felt like he imagined toothpaste must feel when it is squeezed out of tube, tight and yieldy in a way human body shouldn't be. But it was over before he had time to panic and he fell on his behind on a dark street lit by the distant neon glow of a busier street somewhere close. His ass hurt and the street smelled like wet coffee grounds and old fish, but it was street, it was out in the open and he couldn't be, could he… The woman was still on top of Esther, but they weren't kissing anymore. They were talking rapidly and Esther's eyes were in tears. Sirius winced as he rose up, only now noticing the two men and a boy standing close to them. The men were tall and armed to the teeth, the boy was small and blond and angelic.

"Sirius Black, I assume?" he said, but Sirius barely heard. He was looking at another boy. There was the sound of motor coming closer and something spearing and whizzing.

Harry was smiling like his face might crack from it any time and Sirius still couldn't believe it, but as Harry walked closer and asked if he was alright, promised that he would be hidden away in L4 and it all felt so real, he had never felt more saved in his life.

Ther was a screach, metal against beton and metal, and something came their way in a flash of chrome colour and blocky shape. Suddenly they weren't standing where they had been, but a couple of feet away and the car missed Esther still practically lying under the woman by a few spare inches only to crach into a wall. His heart had jumped up into his throat, he could swear, and now it was beating so hard he thought it might escape his chest. His mouth was tasting like blood, like he had run a long, long way, and Harry was trembling against him. The whizzing sound came closer and Sirius realized it was the siren of a police car. He realised that the car had slammed against the wall so hard its bonnet had flattened, the he could smell the cloying tang of fuel and there was smoke.

He had no doubts now. However possible, this was real. He could practically feel the death radiating from the crushed vehicle and while he blinked, just a measly not-second, it burst into small flames. The sirens were getting closer.

"Oh hell," said the angelic boy.

* * *

AN: _he would think that he had lost his world, but preserved his Never-Never-Land by leaving it before Voldemort could return, the shining memory of it never dimmed by an adventure that didn't end happily after all. _What I mean by this is that while all Harry's Potter memories aren't happy in time the good memories will outshine the bad and Hogwarts will forever be preserved as a magical place of beauty and wonders where, while adventures can get dangerous, nothing bad can ultimately happen. He will always miss Hogwarts, but it will be wistful thoughts rather than terrible ache and he can take comfort in the knowledge that he had something pure and wonderful that no power can spoil for him now.

Action will speed up in the next chapter.

The dilemma of another Harry. I figured that since James and Lily lived they would have gotten around to having more than one child and one of them is a boy here. I also figured that there is some reason they named their son Harry and that hadn't changed – people usually choose the names of their children for a reason. Maybe Lily had always wanted to name his son Harry if she got a baby boy, maybe James hadn't liked his name as a child and had hoped he was named Harry. Maybe one of them was a huge fan of Harry Houdini. In any case, they got a boy and he was named Harry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter VII: Flight into the Night**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit

* * *

Harry was happy. This was too rare occasion for Harry Potter, who was often either in mortal peril, bullied, ostracized, hurt or otherwise distressed. Even when he wasn't any of the above he usually wasn't that happy, just not unhappy, and his latest happy moment had been snatched from him before it had even truly sunk in. His other side had gotten a hefty taste of this, home sickness and grief and betrayal and guilt, during the last few days. But now he was uncomplicatedly, unreservedly happy. Sirius was sitting on the dark street in front of him, looking at Harry in a way he remembered from the tower when they had ridden in on Buckbeak and saved Sirius from being Kissed.

"Are you all right?" he asked as Sirius rose to his feet. His godfather nodded, but didn't say a thing, only watched him with those intense eyes. Now Sirius was wearing ugly orange prison pajamas rather than rags, he wasn't quite so thin and his hair was a littleshorter, but he was undoubtly Sirius and Harry had saved him. He was so happy it was spilling all around him. One of Quatre's men stifled giggle and he probably had no idea what was so fun at all.

"We will get you to L4, you can hide there with a fake identity. And the Lovegoods will be there too, they will know who you really are, and I'll make sure to call you at least once a week," he promised.

Of course the moment was too good to last. First he noticed the sirens, but didn't pay much attention to them. The sirens got louder and louder and Harry gave Quatre a worried look which the blond boy returned. There was no way anyone could know he had rescued Sirius, let alone got there so quickly, and it wasn't like what ever was going on was going to involve them in any way, but even then he couldn't help but have a bad feeling about the whole thing.

There was a screech of tires, then metal against concrete and metal, and a car rushed their way in a flash of silver. Harry didn't call Dudley's name this time, didn't even think of it, but reacted and it was easy like taking a step was easy, a brief jump through the in-between-space and suddenly they weren't standing where they had been, but a couple of feet away. Harry's heart was hammering somewhere in his throat – it had been _too close_ – when he turned his head towards the car, not daring to let go of Sirius's hand. The car missed Sergeant Bakwa and Esther who were still practically lying down on the street by a few spare inches. Harry had just enough time to realize how it could only end before it happened; the car crashed into grey concrete wall and crumbled like it was made of papier-mâché.

The sirens were getting closer and the car had slammed against the wall so hard its bonnet had flattened, whoever was in had to be badly hurt at best and the he could almost taste the stench of fuel and smoke.

"Oh hell," said Quatre. Harry could only nod, cursing inwardly that he couldn't quite spit out a handy four letter word. Damn his delicate middle-class sensibilities.

"Harry apparate back in and rescue Matthew Sisulu immediately," Quatre didn't waste any more time to take the charge of the situation. He was all business again – not that he hadn't been since they left the camp, but now he was even more. Harry's mouth felt dry when he nodded and looked up to Sirius who had grabbed his hand tighter, looking unsure. Harry smiled to him, despite everything.

"Don't worry, I'll be right back," he reassured his godfather and stepped to the in-between again.

It was easier than it had ever been and the squeezing, clamping feeling was easier to bear now, or maybe he was just getting used to it. Just a moment of not seeing, not hearing, no up or down and then there were again. He was standing firmly on the floor of another too-white cell and the crack of air relocating where it had to make room for his body made two men jump up in their beds, the smaller of them letting out a strangled squeal. Harry looked back and forth between them. He had seen a picture of Sisulu, of course, how else was he supposed to rescue him? But it was still rather dim and the men both looked similar to his eyes, of average height and build and dark-skinned, faces left in shadows.

"Excuse me, but which one of you is Matthew Sisulu?" he asked, restraining his need to scream at them to hurry up. His happiness hadn't all dried up, exactly, but they were in danger again and that was a familiar feeling to him. Everything was so much more real to him now, somehow. And Sisulu was sure taking his sweet time answering!

"I am Matthew. Who are you and how did you get here? Um, and what exactly are you doing in our cell?" the one on the left bed, the one who hadn't squealed, asked him. Harry climbed on top of his bunk before the man stopped talking, taking his hand and taking a good look just to be sure; the handsome, nice face matched the picture.

"I'm Harry and I'm rescuing you!" he said and stepped back, stepped out in the alley. But Sisulu hadn't been standing when Harry had taken him and now he hovered in the air in an odd half-crouching position for the shortest moment before falling forward against Harry. He lost his balance under the much heavier man and they both toppled over. Harry managed to save his head from hitting the ground at the cost of banging his elbow against it with such force the pain knocked all air out of his lungs and made bright white spots dance in front of his eyes. He fell down when Sisulu's head hit his chest, lying down and gulping breath. The sirens were almost there now and under their wail he could hear the crackle of fire.

He couldn't see the stars, the sky was cloaked by dark, stormy clouds, and then Sirius' worried face hid his vision of them. And Quatre's hands pulled Sisulu from to of him, allowing Sirius to pull Harry on his feet.

"We must leave now, explanations will follow at better time," Quatre ordered them and Harry had to agree. Sirius, Sisulu and Esther Corel were all clad in very obvious prison clothes and police only had to catch half a look at them to give chase.

They were half running for and half ushered into the two cars left to the end of the alley, opposite direction from the one the silver car had come from, but Harry spared a look back to the burning car. He didn't know who many people wre there and if they were even still alive, but he couldn't just let them burn in the yellow and red flames that were quickly consuming the crushed bonnet. He was beginning to feel a little light-headed, but he _reached_, instead of stepping, and _pulled_.

The men laid at his feet, startling everyone and forcing Harry to jump over them. Two of them, both tall and rugged-looking, wearing dark shirts and washed jeans. They were both bloody, what bruises they had weren't showing in the dark in their dark skin. He would have liked to stop and check if they were still breathing or not, but he knew they didn't have time and besides, what could he do? He didn't know even basic first aid, beyond using band aids and always doing whatever Madam Pomfrey told him to.

"I can apparate people. That's teleporting," he explained to Sirius in a hurry; he didn't say more for he didn't want to get into the "magic is real" conversation there and then. It was best to have that when they had time and could sit down alone, and preferably he could also figure how to chance a teacup into a hedgehog or something to prove his word. Quatre caught Harry's eyes with his own and gave him a nod, small, tight smile gracing his lips, and Harry felt his cheeks getting hotter. Funny how that small, teeny tiny praise for saving people's lives made him so content. It was a given he would save a life if he only could.

"It seems like you have a lot to tell me, Harry. And I have so many things I want to tell you. You are so much like your father," Sirius said, making Harry grin wider: He was happy, danger or not. This wasn't perfect, but what ever was in his life? He wouldn't know what to do with perfect.

They almost made it. They had gotten to the cars when bright lights lit up the long, straight alley, making Harry blink with watery eyes from the brightness, and the yellow was streaked with the blue lights of a police car. They were open and vulnerable in the light, a very suspicious group with men in combat gear and three men in prison pyjamas. A strong hand pushed Harry into the backseat of the car nearest to him, making him hit his sore elbow, and Sirius climbed next to him. The car was already moving before he could even think of getting his seat belt on.

Then they were speeding through the narrow streets of Entebbe's less than reputable parts. It was loud even so late, though less crowded than the city had been in the afternoon, and things passed in blur of dark and spots of colours. The police caught up to them again, and Jamal was in the unenviable position of having to zigzag to avoid getting their tires shot out from under them and somehow steering clear of the pedestrians who were out and about on the street and scrambling out of the way the best they could, making the zigzagging harder. A crate of oranges went flying, the fruits pelting the car and Harry pressed his eyes tightly shut as he fumbled his seat belt on, too scared to watch, but not watching was even worse because now he had no clue what was happening and the car kept swerving and spinning around corners absolutely madly. There were shouts and probably curses from the outside and Sirius cursed beside him. Harry opened his eyes and realized only then that Quatre had claimed the front seat. He didn't envy the poor pilot any.

"At least they can't know who we are," Sirius said quietly, grabbing Harry's hand and letting it go again. Harry dares to take his eyes off the hell on wheels for a second and noticed that Sirius was very pale. Might have been the frightful chase, of course, but Harry had a feeling he was afraid the police were going to take him back.

"No way_yyy_ they will catch us! Please be careful!" he pleaded the tall, armed man who was cursing a blue streak in Arabian.

This was a real car chase. It would have been really cool if it hadn't been worse than Voldemort-possessing-Quirrel had been. He felt a funny sort of cramp in the pit of his stomach when he remembered the crunching sound the silvery car had made when it had hit the wall. That made him wonder if he would have enough time to realize it was going to happen, and whether magical transport had to worry about inertia.

_The __vis insita__, or innate force of matter, is a power of resisting by which every body, as much as in it lies, endeavours to preserve its present state, whether it be of rest or of moving uniformly forward in a straight line._

Thank you, Sir Isaac Newton. If he moved them in between at speed like that, would they retain it when they came out? If they did nothing would be left of them but wet stain… but didn't magic break the laws of physics routinely anyway? As long as believed in between would act as an external force that would force them to stop – gently. He would need be much more worried if there was some magical law concerning inertia, but there wasn't, right? Harry wished he had listened to Hermione and paid more attention in school. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound that was like a shrill, sharp pop and then an ominous clang. Quatre said something he didn't understand – the language barrier was bothering him more and more and more – but then the boy spoke with a calm voice.

"Stay calm, I will come back there; they have hit the fuel tank."

Harry turned around and was that gas was leaking out behind their car at a steady rate. It wasn't spraying out like a geyser, but it was still fast enough that they wouldn't get more than maybe a mile or so before they run dry. He frowned and thought of Sisulu, tried to force his magic to do something new.

"_Stay inside_!" he hissed sharply in Parseltongue. Nothing happed, the gas kept leaving a line behind them. Of course. The gods of magic probably thought his life wasn't interesting enough yet.

Quatre shifted on his seat. Harry couldn't hear the small click of the safety belt opening, but he could feel it in his bones. Suddenly he was intensely aware of everything around him. Quatre and the determination and confidence that seemed to radiate off him like rays from sun when he lowered the back and nimbly climbed over his seat. The thick smell of leaking fuel. The shift of the bench when he shifted to the left and Sirius shifted to the right and the pressure when Quatre knelt between them. His elbow bumped into Sirius as he took a metallic cylinder from his utility belt, turned its head ktik ktik ktik and then pulled his gun.

The shot felt like a physical blow against Harry's eardrums. He gasped and his whole body jerked and he lifted his hands to his ears, for all it was too late to protect them now.

"Don't you use a silencer?" he shouted over the echoes still hammering in his ears.

"If I hadn't your eardrums would have burst," Quatre said matter of factly. Merlin, Harry thought, that was silenced? Guns weren't that loud in the movies.

But the glass was gone now and Quatre threw what Harry suspected, with no little horror, to be a bomb. He wanted to scream, shout, demand what Quatre thought he was doing, but he only pressed his hands against his ears tighter and promised to himself to murder Quatre once the ride stopped. There was a bang, but it was quieter than the gunshot before it, not louder. Behind them vaguely pinkish foam burst from the cylinder. And burst and burst and burst. In a blink there was a wall of foam. Then it shook and jiggled like jelly and Harry realised it wasn't foam anymore, it was solid…ish. And that the police car had driven right into it.

Maybe it was magic, maybe instinct or just luck that had him throw his arms around Quatre, unless he was just that happy Quatre hadn't thrown a bomb. Their getaway car driver put on the break and Quatre fell against Harry's arms, wrenching painfully his shoulders. And then, miraculously, the car skidded to a halt. They were finally outside the city.

Harry's legs were shaking when he scrambled out of the car and he had to lean against it. The other car that had had the fortune to drive before them was returning, maybe, or at least the long lights of a car were skidding closer and closer to them in the darkness of the African night. Sirius scooped Harry into a tight hug from behind, whispering something nonsensical into his ears he couldn't hear yet. And Harry burst out laughing.

"We-ell, this has… never happened to me before. My first car chase!" he sputtered in between chuckles when the rest of them looked at him funny. Just when you though the life could offer you no more shocks. Sirius started to laugh, first hesitantly like he didn't quite remember how, but then it evolved into hearty guffaws. Quatre suppressed laughter behind his palm and even Jamal gave a lone chuckle.

"But why didn't you, you know, do whatever you did to get me out of that hellhole? Or do you have some limit to how many times you can use it per day?" Sirius asked and Harry stopped laughing; they all did. The other car, the one with Sisulu, Corel and Bakwa in it, drove to them. Harry was hanging his head, feeling more foolish than he had ever felt in his life.

"Don't be too hard to yourself. I didn't think of it either," Quatre said, sounding angry with himself. And it had been scary and dangerous, but now that it was over Harry felt alive in a way he had never felt after danger before, maybe because usually he would have been unconscious right now. Maybe there was some truth to what they said about adrenaline rush.

And damn, it had been his first car chase ever, no one was dead except for some oranges and it had been intense.

* * *

Luna had made a decision. Making decisions, even as big as vacating into another dimension, had never been difficult for Luna. Even in the dark, where you can not see the rungs of the ladder, can you not climb down? What she decided to do might be difficult, but making the decision wasn't. Luna felt the rungs under her feet and climbed.

The night had fallen and while the secret jungle base wasn't quiet it was dark. All warm light was kept behind thick fabric and black paint and Luna more felt the giant metal woman looming above her than she saw her. The night was dark, but thick like the jungle that surrounded them, full of movement and excitement and whispers that said SisuluSisuluSisulu. Occasionally also Black, but mostly Sisulu. At the foot of Deathscythe stood Duo Maxwell, holding a flashlight the size of Luna's middle finger. It made his face hover bone-pale out of the darkness, surrounded by the vague shape of his body and a long, thick braid. She really liked his hair and she was sad it wouldn't look nearly as good on her.

"I want you to piggyback me," she told Duo. They were getting ready for the take-off and Luna was carrying the small pouch she had been given in her arm. It hold toothbrush, toothpaste, spare panties and a spoon she had been given. Her mum and dad and grandmum were standing a bit further back nex to the smaller, plainer suits, talking with the Maguanacs.

"And why me specifically?" Duo asked with a hint of tease, but it was friendly tease.

"You have the best mobile suit. And I like you," Luna answered honestly. Duo was nice and he hadn't mocked her yet, though they had only known each other for a little time, but the most important part was that Duo would go to rescue his friend. And his mobile suit was the best.

"Heh, can't argue with a girl who appreciates my lady," Duo said and hoisted Luna up with hands that didn't shake any even though she wasn't that much lighter than he was and set her on the lift hanging half a meter above the ground. It was a little like a swing in the park that was near the house this-Luna had lived in, a thick, round pole to stand on, but instead of two chains it had a cable in the middle for her to hold.

"Ma'am, mister, ma'am, I'm taking this one off your hands if you don't mind," Duo shouted to her parents and stepped on the lift to the opposite side, his feet on both sides of Luna's. The lift swung and turned a little when he stepped on it and Luna hold on tighter.

She could tell her family wasn't happy to give her away, but it couldn't be helped; one mobile suit could only piggyback one person. Dad had argued that they should let him and Luna travel together in one of the empty Maguanac suits, those were to be remote controlled by Duo after all, but that would have left them alone in one without supervision.

"I would feel better if it was so dark already. Why did we wait for the night?" he asked.

"It's harder to detect us in the dark," Duo said and kindly didn't tag "of course" to the end of his sentence. "Besides, we're gonna fly low to avoid radar, but there's always a chance they'll detect us anyway and after that Quat would have had trouble. The less time we occupy Oz airspace the better." Duo pushed a button above Luna's head and the lift lifted them up with a silent hurrrr. Nimbly like a monkey of some sort, a monkey with a long tail, Duo climbed into the cockpit and helped Luna in also.

"Mum, dad, grandmum, I love you!" Luna shouted down. Somewhere there they stood, trying to see her disappear into the belly of Deathscythe.

The cockpit was small: Duo and Luna had to turn around wrapped against one another like in a slow dance to get her behind him. There was a pilot's chair, the hatch in the floor in front of it, and behind the chair was a small, padded niche where a harness had been fastened into the wall. It included a padded lap bar that fastened into the wall between her legs. Duo adjusted it for her, showing her the emergency switch she could use to get it off "in case something happened." After that came a variation of an over-the-shoulder harness that resembled some Luna had seen in roller coasters. All in all it was very similar to the Sandrock's harness, though other than that the cockpit was very different. Luna thought a different person had probably designed them.

The harness pressed tightly against her, but it was safe tight and Luna bore it happily as Duo harnessed himself into the chair, closed the hatch, contacted the flight control and took off. Unlike an airplane, mobile suits rose directly up like helicopters. The acceleration pressed Luna downward, but the bar didn't let her slide off and they didn't rise so high her ears would have hurt. She hummed, too silent for Duo to hear, and watched the blinking lights and the blue light of the screens to cast colours and shadows on the boy. The HUD had a gray-scale picture of the night sky and green numbers, lines and words on it.

She could only see the back oh his head, but Duo fairly radiated excitement and… not contentment exactly, but the feeling of being in his element. It made her a little jealous – not the bad I-hope-you-didn't-have-this-jealousy, but the wistful I-hope-I-felt-so-right-too-type.

"In our way to the point. Now let's not tip Oz off on us," he said. Luna nodded solemnly.

"I can help you with that if you need it," she promised. "I am very good at not being noticed."

"Yeah, Quat told me you sneaked off the Oz base on your own. A regular magical girl, aren't you?" Duo bantered back at her.

Luna blinked in surprise and beamed happily. It was fitting that she would get to be a magical girl since Duo and his friends were piloting giant robots.

"I will do that. Thank you, it is a wonderful idea," she thanked Duo and fell silent, deep in thought. The most important thing first: she now needed a magical girl name.

Magical Galaxy Witch Luna? She considered it, but decided that calling herself a magical witch was a bit redundant. Maybe Magical Girl Pink Moonflower would be better? Luna abandoned that name also after a moment's consideration. It was beautiful and the allusion to her name, rather than using it, would help her keep her identity a secret, but it was a little too sweet. You needed to add a bit of salt to something sweet to make it taste better. She frowned and rubbed her forehead, trying to encourage her brain to work harder. After a moment she came up with Final Nargle Invoker Luna, which sounded, dare she say it? A little badass. The only problem was that she had never actually invoked a nargle. Luna put that one down in the Maybe category and continued her creative work. The next name she came up with was Magical Girl Pretty Pixie Luna, but it was too long. Four words in a magical girl name were fine, but five were a bit much.

"Do you think Final Nargle Invoker Luna would make a good name?" she asked. She could always start invoking nargles.

"It's loads better than some of the code names and phrases we get. Sometimes I think the high-ups get drunk together and try to come up with as inappropriate shit as they can. It was before Operation Meteor, there was the woman operator and her mission was named Booty Call. She wasn't amused to say the least. And there was one time I was supposed to call myself Pluto and that wasn't so bad, but the other guy had to say morituri te salutant when I was supposed to take him off the place and if you know any Latin at all… Well, the poor guy would have been nervous anyway, but…"

Duo kept speaking and Luna let his words wash over her, comforting. She thought about her new name and she waited. She didn't see the future like some claimed to do. Who knows, maybe some of them even did. But Luna knew things; she knew there was a rung under her feet when she felt for it. She loved her parents and grandmum a lot and now she would get to live with them, if not forever, then at least for a good long while. But Harry was her friend and she had promised. What kind of friend would she be if she broke that promise before even a day had gone by?

* * *

No man is infallible and Quatre knew it, but that didn't mean that he didn't find forgetting his companion could teleport them out of a bad situation mortifying. He had reacted before he had thought and then he had run with the situation. He guessed that at some level he hadn't really counted on Harry as an asset, and of course getting used to him and his cheat code wasn't a good idea since this time next week the messy-haired boy would be safely away from the war, but nevertheless, he had dropped the ball spectacularly.

They'd had to leave the damaged car behind, which he had profoundly apologized for. Sergeant Bakwa didn't seem mind, though. A deliriously happy smile played on her lips and she kept touching Corel, holding his hand, caressing his face, reassuring herself that he truly was there. Quatre knew she loved him so much she wanted to cry, that she was happy enough to cry and that feeling stayed with her. It was rather awkward for a romantic scene; they had all squashed themselves into one car. Harry was sitting on Sirius Black's lap and while it would have been logical for Quatre as the second smallest to do the same Bakwa had promptly sat down on Corel's lap and that had been that. They had left the main road for a smaller, more inconspicuous and a lot bumpier one and someone's elbow struck between someone else's ribs all the time. Even then, the happiness that radiated off of her and Harry was so inebriating Quatre wasn't anywhere near as angry with himself as he assumed he would be later.

He had to remind himself that they hadn't gotten away yet. By now the authorities had surely learned who the escaped prisoners were and a manhunt would commence. If not for that random, ill-timed car crash there wouldn't have been anything left to worry about, but truly, no plan survived intact contact with the action. He considered asking Harry transport them to the rendez-vous point now, but as long as there was no immediate danger of capture he didn't want to abandon the second car. Bakwa, Corel and Sisulu would need it after they were gone.

"What were my dad like, Sirius?" Harry Broke the silence. For all Bakwa and Corel could barely bother to draw breath between words at first what passed between them now was silent. "Mum Petunia and dad Vernon have told me about mum, but I guess they didn't know dad very well."

"Well," the thin, long-haired man said slowly, "what do you want to know?" He looked quite wild and Quatre was beginning to have his doubts about his plan to send Harry to live with this man. It was obvious he adored his godson, but also equally obvious that he was suffering from some kind of psychological trauma and was in need of therapy. Not very surprising, considering.

"Everything!" exclaimed Harry, sitting up and turning around to face Black properly. "What likes and dislikes my dad had. How did you become best friends with dad? How mum and dad first met? What kinds of thing did you do together?" Harry fired, enthusiastic.

"Whoa, take it easy, marauder! One question at a time!" said Sirius, half-laughing at Harry's enthusiastic behaviour.

"Ok…" for a moment, Harry looked deep in thought then he asked "What was his personality like? And why did you call me marauder?" he asked, not quite able to restrict himself to one question.

They drove on, Sirius and Harry's conversation ebbing on and off. It seemed like they wanted to speak of so much, but had troubles of keeping a conversation going on. Must have been because they shared so important connection yet didn't even know each other. It took half an hour for them to reach the end of the small road, a little ways from the rock formation Quatre and Duo had agreed on as their meeting place.

The road was gravel here and it rustled under Quatre's feet as he climbed out of the car. He stretched, happy to get out of the cramped quarters of the car. All his companions expressed similar relief, Esther Corel most of all; Bakwa had sat on him the whole way after all and the hesitant steps made it clear his legs had fallen asleep.

"Habib," Bakwa whispered as they stumbled onto the high, yellowish grass.

It was a hot and humid night and Quatre thought it would rain soon. Now when the sound of the engine had ceased, replaced by quiet steps and whispers, like they all had out of some wordless agreement decided to not break the peace of the night, he could hear the fluttering wings of bats overhead. The less than melodic sound of some bird sounded in the somewhere in the dark, but a distant, muffled gunshot did so also, piercing the thick, humid night air. It was quieting and even the muffled whispers ceased, but surprisingly it didn't foul the mood of the escapees and Harry, though Quatre and his men were instantly on the alert. Sadly in these parts of the world sounds like that were not too unusual. There were bugs galore around the lights of the car, the sweet scent of flowers and the sounds of crickets that joined in a buzz of other insects brought comfort. It went a long way to quiet his soul from the cares of the day, the oily film of danger and too much activity.

"We must part ways here, I fear. Mr Sisulu, I assume that you wish to follow good Sergeant Bakwa and Mr Corel here. Mr Black, do you wish to follow Harry and us?" he asked, gesturing with his head towards the boy Sirius hadn't let far yet, knowing the answer well. All parties mumbled their agreement with this.

"Excuse me, but if we will go our separate ways now at which point do I get an explanation?" Matthes Sisulu asked with genial voice, but he was staring at Harry unapologetically, making the boy flush slightly in the lights of the car and drop his eyes, scuffing the dirt with his toe.

"I can apparate – that's teleporting – and that's why I'm here. The original idea was to leave me to England," Harry explained and cast Quatre a reproachful look. Apparition or no apparition, Harry would have been as insulted to be left behind anyway. He was terribly independent and self-sufficient for someone his age and he had his pride.

"I am sorry for having considered such a thing," he said solemnly. Harry frowned like he wondered if Quatre was serious or not, but then decided to let it go.

"Mr Sisulu, I am aware that your freedom will have great propaganda value, but could you please give us forty eight hours before you reveal anything concerning us? And please keep Harry's part out of this; the Romefeller Foundation would be more than happy to try and claim him if his abilities were revealed," he requested from Sisulu. The man looked at Harry and bowed, making the boy twitch in surprise.

"I am a free man now thanks to you, Harry. Do not fear, I will attribute your actions to some new, unknown technology. The general public will have easier time believing that in any case," the man promised.

"Thank you," Harry answered, seeming even more embarrassed now. Quatre felt his anger rising once again. No one should be so hesitant to accept gratefulness for such extraordinary bravery.

Black and Sisulu exchanged quick promises to stay in touch, somehow, and Black extended the same to Corel. After that Bakwa climbed behind the wheel, the men got into the car and when they drove off Quatre and his companions started their trek up the hill. The long hay softened the form of the landscape, making to rise seem much gentler than it truly was and the uneven ground under their feet made walking much more tiring than urban, even ground did. But the night still felt enchanted, somehow. The noises of civilization were far away, but the chirps and roars and flutter that sounded around them made it clear Africa wasn't sleeping. And then, without the preamble of few, rare droplets, it begun to rain like someone had pulled the stopper off the sky. It was as abrupt as the sun falling below the horizon had been and in two seconds flat they were soaked to the bone.

"And the say England has terrible weather," Harry grumbled as they reached the rendez-vous point. Quatre had to disagree since in England the rain was cold, but he agreed with the sentiment that this wasn't the kind of weather he took pleasure being exposed to. Thankfully they didn't have to wait for very long before Duo contacted him and gave the ETA of two minutes. But this wasn't the only thing he had to inform Quatre about.

_Eight Leos en route from Lake Victoria, the course is set to intercept us, ETA ten minutes_, he said with tense voice. What was left of the sense of serenity after being rained on evaporated there and then. Quatre cursed their luck.

"Which of the Lovegoods is riding with you?" he asked.

_Luna Lovegood_, was the answer. It was bad, but not as bad as Calla Lovegood would have been.

"Good. This is what we will do," he started to explain his plan. The whole time he could feel Harry's intense eyes burning holes to the back of his neck.

In two minutes the mobile suits landed, his Sandrock and the two empty Maguanacs' suits rather clumsily. The hatch opened and the lift fell down. Without further ado Harry hopped on it, holding the cable with pale-knuckled grip while Jamal grabbed Black's hand and fairly dragged him to get him to leave Harry. Quatre signalled for the lift to take them up. Harry climbed out of it almost before it had reached the hatch, attempting to fasten himself into the hatch without much success. Thank you, Allah, Quatre though, he is a calm one. Harry's face was grim, but he wasn't panicking. He hadn't panicked in the car either, though it had been a close thing.

"Let me do this," he said and secured the harness on Harry. Then he secured himself and too off, following Deathscythe which was already in the air.

The Maguanacs' suits were good, but the Gundams were better. He was going to need Duo providing back-up, or all his men. He had to get Calla Lovegood to safety and he didn't want to endanger Xenophilius and Quilla Lovegood either. The downside of this course was that it a thirteen years old girl to a risk – but to a smaller risk than her family would have been in. A Gundam could withstand even a beam rifle pulse and Duo was among the best pilots he had ever seen.

The controls obeyed under his hand easily. So low he didn't think the Leo's could notice, Rashid, Mirrikh and Azeer escaping with their precious cargo. That was when ten new points entered his radar, approaching from the direction of Greece, which was where the second nearest Oz base with mobile suit units permanently stationed in. Reinforcements, his mind calculated, but too far away to influence this battle in any way.

The enemy closed quickly, splitting their formation and attempting to come at them from two directions simultaneously. Then they were already engaging the enemy in a no-holds barred fight to death. Eight against four didn't make good odds, but the enemy only had Leos and those in no way compared to Gundams and these men, or women, knew that as well. They were desperate to slow Quatre and his men down until the reinforcements arrived and while it was really only a matter of time before their defences were broken they were going to see to it that Quatre and his companions earned the victory. Their bravery made Quatre discomfited, though he suppressed the feeling with ease born of experience. He never enjoyed fighting like Duo did, but it was easier when there was nothing to admire in his enemies.

_Do it if you dare, rush through the sky, hurl through the air!__ I dare you do it, plunge through like light, exhilarating high!_

Deathscythe shot by and its frequency broadcasted rock music at full blast, making Quatre smile briefly as he attacked a Leo, his swords cutting titanium steel like it was soft copper, sending it plummeting down. The music was nice, up-beat and thoroughly intimidating when played by a person trying to blow you out of the sky.

This would have been easier in space where there was no up and down, but Quatre handled Sandrock with ease, a loop bringing them briefly upside-down and eliciting a startled yelp from Harry.

"It's funny, I'm less scared than I was in the car even though this is more dangerous. I think," the boy spoke for the first time since the beginning of the battle. His voice was high-strung, but still not panicked. "Good thing I never get airsick," he muttered under his breath as Quatre spun then through another loop. They took a hit that threw him against the harness painfully, but not hard enough to bruise his ribs. He chewed his lower lip and kept Sandrock under control, didn't allow it to be thrown haphazardly to the side via what felt was sheer strength of his fingers.

Harry might have been right or not. This might even have been less dangerous than the mad car chase had been, but Quatre wasn't going to stop calculate the odds in the middle of a battle.

"There is no reason to worry," he soothed the boy, hoping he could keep his word, knowing it hadn't quite yet sunk in for the thirteen-year-old that Quatre was killing people and hoping it wouldn't either. Harry was much too young and innocent to deal with such a thing.

Jamal warned Duo back from a potential pinscher manoeuvre, his voice sounding weary over the communications system. Duo didn't even take the time to answer, just steering clear before the two Leos closed on him and turning nimbly to swing his scythe, taking first one and then the second off. It was a rough one and they fighting with all they had, but Duo's music blared and his whoops of victory sounded over it, ringing clear and strangely innocent.

Every soul shall have a taste of death, Quatre thought and grimaced at his blasmephy.

Six down, two left. He took a hit on his right side and heard the whine of servomotors under stress. Damn, he thought and frantically redoubled his efforts, now fighting a two and half seconds delay on the right side and that was a long time in a fight.

Then Ahmed fired a line of flashing red, making the green outline of an enemy suit blink into nothingness on his HUD, and Duo swung his scythe down with fey green flame once more, screaming how Shinigami had come and Devil would receive their souls, and then the sky was empty – for now. Quatre could feel his pulse in his fingertips and the world was clear and bright with the adrenalin that coursed in his veins, his hands slightly jittery. The dots in his radar were steadily closing the distance and resigned he decided that they couldn't afford to follow Rashid. Rescuing Calla Lovegood and arranging her arrival to L4 was the original mission objective, he couldn't endanger the wizened scientist now. Not when Oz in all likelihood wasn't aware of Rashid's group ever being there in the first place, not when they had nearly licked dirt flying low. Not even for the woman's granddaughter.

"We can't risk leading our pursuers to the Kampala Sweeper base. I apologize, Luna, but we are going to have to take refuge elsewhere," he spoke to Deathscythe's frequency. Harry was squirming behind his back.

_That is all right. I made a promise to Harry, you see_, Luna answered with voice that could even be described as perky. She was to all appearances even less disturbed by the recent close call than Harry was.

_Say, Luna, weren't you some kind of precog? You said you wanted to fly with me_, Duo asked, speculating. Quatre closed briefly his eyes, but opened them immediately, for midflight wasn't a good moment for that kind of dramatics. Please, he thought, don't let her say she did this on purpose.

_So Quatre says_, was the unconcerned answer. Duo laughed, actually laughed over the comm.

_You are a sneaky little thing, aren't you?_ A pause. _I approve of you_. Quatre groaned and valiantly resisted the impulse to bang his head against Sandrock's control panels. He might have damaged something after all.

* * *

Hallow Nguen was on Uganda Government's watch list, a fact which she both took pride on and that caused her chronic stress, insomnia induced by chronic stress, indigestion and high blood pressure induced by, surprise, surprise, chronic stress. Hallow wasn't a very brave young woman, or at least she didn't think she was. Her friends said it was a true sign of courage when you did something that scared you out of your wits, but Hallow maintained her opinion that a courageous person wouldn't sweat so in her sleep that she had to wash her pyjamas the next day. All because the next day's download had been finalized as always and she had seen nightmares of men in black appearing behind her door to arrest her.

She was the sole owner of a Ugandan magazine named Kampala Times that she had inherited from her late father. She refused to call a media that published stories of packs of wild cocker spaniels terrorizing the city of Gulu and Colonel Kushrenada adopting an alien baby a newspaper, though that was what everyone in her editorial staff called Kampala Times, with no little pride. Their circulation of distribution was over six million and that wasn't something to scoff at.

Money talks, bullshit walks; Hallow hadn't seriously tried to turn Kampala Times into a respectable paper, but to ease her pride she published also Alliance critical news articles.

One might think Alliance wouldn't be very interested what a magazine that claimed King Peacecraft had been killed by vampires and that the Alliance had covered the entire thing up because the Romefeller conspiracy that ruled the planet in secret had a treaty with the coven said about them. One would be wrong. Kampala Times wasn't the most credible source of information, to be nice about it, but the circulation of distribution of six millions wasn't a joking matter and six million people reading every week how UESA was a totalitarian regime certainly wasn't.

Now Hallow watched the man sitting in the burgundy red arm chair before her desk and felt her heart plummeting down to her ankles. She licked her lips, trying to wet them. In front of her sat THE Matthew Sisulu, fresh escaped from Entebbe Prison, offering an interview. In a less comfortable chair a little behind Sisulu sat another man named Esther Corel whom Hallow knew nothing of, but who Sisulu vouched for and who offered dirt on Walburga Black, a high-ranked member of Romefeller Foundation. They both were dressed neatly in dress pants and white shirts, their hair was clean, short and well combed. In other words, they looked very respectable and law-abiding. Hallow had a feeling even a police officer wouldn't look at them twice in a crowd.

"Why have you come to me? I am well aware of my magazine's reputation," she asked and put a glass of water to her lips to give her hands something to do. There were ice cubes in it and they clinked merrily against the glass as she put the glass down again, her mouth only a little less dry now.

"We are fugitives, Ms Nguen. You have a reputation for being, well, creative, but also for believing in the protection of the source. We would rather the person we speak to didn't call the police. Also, many who are sympathetic have been silenced. You have not allowed the Oz to silence you." Sisulu said this with admiration, making Hallow drop her gaze. She wanted to say, kind of, that less pressure had been put on her than would have been had Kampala Times been a respectable newspaper, but at the same time she wanted Sisulu to think well of her.

He was a good-looking man, but his voice was absolutely gorgeous. It was smooth like velvet, in turn deliciously rueful or so cheerful it lifted her heart or sad like autumn and yet rich like wine. He was the most expressive person Hallow had ever talked to and it didn't hurt that he was renowned for his ideals and integrity.

She tired to come up with something to say. The air conditioning whined in the background and rain drummed against her window.

"Ah, how did you escape? The speculation is running wild and I have even heard rumours of a child appearing in your cells. Some say he was your guardian angel in the shape of a boy, others remind you don't even believe in angels." She was babbling. Hallow wanted to hit herself over the head.

"The part about a child is not true," Matthew said, looking briefly at the yellow and black painting of a giraffe done in tribal style that was hanging on her wall, but his eyes returned to hers immediately. "We were rescued by two Gundam pilots."

"The Gundam pilots were also involved in this?" Hallow whispered. She wouldn't have thought it possible, but this doubled the news value of the article.

"Yes, pilots 02 and 04, respectively. They also used new, groundbreaking teleporting technology to break us out of prison," Corel answered, speaking for the first time since he had introduced himself. Matthew reached forward as if to touch her hand, but then drew his back. He had the happy kind of face that had never quite lost all baby fat, a face that seemed to be smiling even when he wasn't, but his eyes were sad. He understood exactly what he was asking of Hallow.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. If she published this she would be the next one wearing a prison uniform. No power on Earth Sphere would keep Alliance from cracking down on her, locking her up and throwing the key to the bottom of a well. But if she didn't, if she let the scoop of the century slip from her fingers because she was afraid, if she backed off, gave up her ideals, what then? If she refused and had to go back to trash about Kushrenada's alien babies she would throw herself off her window. Not to mention, Matthew Sisulu would be disappointed. Hallow wished she had kept antacids in her drawer; her stomach was beginning to churn. She knew she wouldn't get a wink of sleep before she made her decision and probably not after either.

"I will take you to the film crew; I'll have Qamar cancel one of her appointments and we can film and upload this in time for tomorrow's edition," she said. The back of her shirt was feeling damp, but maybe it was the weather.

"Thank you, Ms Nguen. I understand what deciding to live on the run costs you and I greatly admire your devotion to the freedom of our people," Sisulu – Matthew – said, making a wide gesture with his hand. A flower holder was standing in a corner, made of dark brown wood and red ceramics, a vintage tea set had been placed on a silver tray on top of her cabinet and her walls were decorated with painting done in a traditional style.

It was a lot to lose, true, but Hallow was too busy realising Matthew had no intention to leave her behind to be arrested to care too much.

"Circumstances considered, I think you can call me Hallow, Matthew," Hallow said, a ridiculous, wide smile stretching her lips. Never mind alien babies, tomorrow Colonel Kushrenada was going to have a cow! She wondered if anyone she knew had an idea how to set up a secret L4 bank account. No reason to run without her money if she could keep it, and besides, using it to fund the cause would make Matthew happy.

She asked her secretary to bring her lunch after the men had left. Ten minutes later she threw up in her waste basket, grateful Sisulu had already left. No one made good impression holding their hair out of the way while heaving. She desperately wished she was at least a little braver woman.

* * *

AN: So Luna has decided to become a magical girl. Oz beware!

So where have Quatre & co gone? You will se in the next chapter.

"Every soul shall have a taste of death." I am quoting the Qur'an here and taking this seriously out of context. I would have preferred to mangle the "ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death", but couldn't really justify that since why would Quatre quote the Bible?

I would ask for help from my readers for future reference. Here I had Harry use the word damn, though not out loud. He did use that in canon so I'm confident using it here, but exactly how severe curses damn, bloody hell, bitch and bollocs are? English isn't my native language so the nuances of swearing is a bit hard to catch. Some writers hardly treat these as swear words at all, others cry how character X would never say such a thing. Can you recommend me some mild, wouldn't make your mother wash your mouth with soap explenetives for young characters?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter VIII: ****48 Hours' countdown**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

Treize Khushrenada was very busy the night of Matthew Sisulu, Sirius Black and Esther Corel's disappearance. The Romefeller Foundation was making angry noises like he had been the one responsible for guarding the Entebbe prison, they had managed to keep this under the lid for now, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the rebels managed to find a medium that would publicize this, the situation in South Africa was bound to get worse very quickly and tie his forces needed elsewhere AND most importantly, the teleportation technology had made an appearance again. They had interrogated Corel's cellmate and he had given consistent if so unbelievable description of the events that the local authorities had refused to believe the man.

Treize sipped his coffee, willing himself to stay awake. It was much too early to be awake, but also much too late to fall asleep anymore. When the door slid open and let the harsher, white light of the corridor into his room he knew it was bad news before he raised his eyes from his cup.

"Report from team Sedna, sir. The Gundam pilots have disappeared from their surveillance." Commander Une spat these words that tasted foul in her mouth. She allowed the door to slide closed behind her back and paced like a caged animal, one full circle before standing in attention in front of his desk and he couldn't help noticing the lines around her eyes. Maybe it was partly because of the tight bun she had tied her hair into, but he realizes that while she was still quite beautiful she was getting old before her time.

Treize Kushrenada had a soft spot for two things and two things only in this world; he cared for much in a distant sort of way, for the future of humankind, and that noble, aloof concern allowed him to proceed with his grand plan. But there were only two things still in this world that could make him personally involved.

The first was his city. He didn't spend much time in Paris anymore, but he loved everything about it. With the possible exception of the Parisians, because the people all too often seemed to want nothing more than to threaten the scenic splendour of the city by stirring up strikes and conflicts that he had to have put down so that the city could enjoy peace. He tolerated the people well enough though, because they were a part of Paris and this fact simply couldn't be helped. The second was Commander Une. While she could be overzealous at times she was intelligent and competent and supportive, and most importantly she had been his companion for a long, long time.

"Guarding the Entebbe prison wasn't our responsibility, commander, and the Gundam pilots we will have very soon. Do not torture yourself," he pacified her and put his cup down; the coffee was still hot enough to scald his tongue. He watched the black liquid swirl and wondered if it was worth it to get up from the bed in days like this one. He was also hungry and he wondered how quickly he could get bagels at four am.

"Sometimes I wonder if the purpose of life isn't to eat bagels," he mused out loud. Commander Une coughed.

"You sound tired, sir. Maybe you should get a few hours of sleep," she suggested. But he had too much work to do, too much thinking to do, and soon he watched her red back disappearing into the corridor.

He had gone to some trouble to ensure that his office provided him with an environment where his eye rested and which stimulated his cognitive abilities. Water was represented by the different shades of matte blue and blue-gray on the walls while wood was represented by colour green on a painting of a forest. The dulled wine red of his desk represented fire as maroon and pink were a bit much for him, the cocoa brown carpet represented earth and metal was represented by the white of his ceiling and the gold and silver of lampshade. And under the golden and silver light that accented his manly beauty nicely he thought.

He had already figured the pilots were probably a lot younger than the general public assumed, but thirteen? Or even twelve? No, that boy couldn't be a pilot, for one he didn't see the body of a boy so young taking well to the drop through atmosphere or handling the recoil from bigger guns without injuries. But why send a child to do a man's job? He could only see that as a necessity. Pilot 04 would only have sent the child if a man couldn't have done his job. But 04 and many of his men besides had already teleported themselves. There was something he didn't see.

_Excuse me, but whic__h one of you is Matthew Sisulu? _He had not known_. I'm Harry and I'm rescuing you!_

Such a childish thing to say. Might this Harry be acquainted with one of the escapees? Corel, he thought and it made a fair amount of sense. Sisulu's disciplines had both been saved and their worth to the resistance was obvious. Black's cellmate had also been rescued, but not Sisulu's. That meant there was something special about Esther Corel. But even if that was true there was still something he didn't see. Why a child, unless the child was somehow the only one who could?

* * *

This was the first time Harry had ever been on a wet ship in his life. Not that he had ever been on a space ship either, but that was beside the point. Anna the Atrocious Appaloosa – AAA for short, which Duo for some incomprehensible spacer reason seemed to find utterly hilarious – was an old but well cared chartering ship. It was owned by Stella Polaris Maritime Services, which was in turn owned by the Sweeper Company. The people there had been surprised when two Gundams and the Maguanacs' suits had appeared and asked for asylum, but not too surprised – and they didn't appear too worried either. No one said it out loud, but Harry got a feeling that this was more commonplace an occurrence than one might think. AAA was towing the suits underwater now. Harry had worried for them at first and then felt stupid. The mobile suits had been made to function in the vacuum of space, they should be able to handle little salt water.

The chip was chartering grains, fertilizers and cement from the Ivory Coast to Kemet. It was travelling at good speed and Harry enjoyed sitting on the deck in the warm sunlight, feeling the cool wind on his face and hair. The ship was so big it barely rocked at all and if not for the blue stretching to the horizon to more blue he could have thought he wasn't on ship at all, but on a really high building's roof. He was also attempting to transfigure a match into a needle and enjoying it a great deal less.

It wasn't that he hadn't gotten anything done. After good three hours of staring at it and repeating the incantation in his mind and in a whisper and even imitating the wand movements with his index finger he had managed to turn it sharp like a needle. But it was still made of wood and Harry again cursed the loss of his wand. He wanted to do something that couldn't be explained away with psychokinesis and turning a wooden object a metallic object had seemed like such a good way to do it. Turning pieces of wood sharp wasn't.

"This is so frustrating," he hissed to the match. It remained unrepentantly wooden.

"I haven't had much luck with unliving things," Luna's voice sounded from behind Harry. He turned his head to see her leaning on her knees, clothed in a long wine red tunic one of the women working on AAA had donated that made an acceptable knee-length dress for Luna, though the neckline was so wide it had flopped down on one of her shoulders.

"Sit down, please," Harry gestured to the spot of deck beside him, amusing himself with a thought of zombie matches wandering about and yelling for brains. "Are you good at herbology?" he asked.

"Yes. It's in the nature of plants to grow, I simply nudge them to the right direction," she said. Harry tried to come up with something to say, but herbology had never been one of his stronger subjects, though still better than potions or divination. Anything was better than potions.

"The thing is, I'm good at chemistry here. It's so maddening, I could have been good at potions like mum if Snape hadn't been such a berk," he said and only then realised that had come pretty much out of blue. But Luna just lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled a little.

"That he was. He didn't like me very much either. I think I annoyed him," she confessed, seeming both delighted and a bit startled by Harry's language. Really, in the magical world people were a lot more respectful towards their teachers; one of those old-fashioned things like quills and no television.

No television? That was so backwards it wasn't even funny.

"I think you are a bit strange, but it's good strange, you know? World would be a really boring place if everyone was the same and I like the way you take everything so calmly and always know what I'm trying to say. But I guess someone like Snape would be annoyed." He didn't see Snape as the type to be happy when someone made him feel transparent.

It was like his frustration had bled dry when Luna appeared and then it was merely a nice, sunny day in the middle of great blue sea and wind that smelled like salt water and freedom. Harry soon put the match to his pocket and lied on back beside Luna, watching clouds. He saw a shoe, a little lopsided rabbit, the coast of France and for a very short while the blurry shape of a woman holding an umbrella. Luna saw a mermaid, a Crumple-Horned Snorkack that Harry couldn't spot on account of having no clue what Crumple-Horned Snorkacks looked like, a calla lily that reminded Harry of both her grandmum and his mum and a Blibbering Humdinger that left him drawing blank also. In addition to this they saw lots of blobs and spots and laughed, pointing those to each other and trying to come up with as many ways to say spot as possible. It was peaceful if not for the steady rumble of the great engines that vibrated off the deck straight into his skull he might have been in the danger of falling asleep.

"This is so nice. So soothing," he mumbled. Luna gave him a smile that suggested she was feeling sleepy as well.

"I am being peaceful. People don't usually notice," she said. Harry wondered if she meant that she was making him peaceful too and decided it didn't matter. It was a nice day, especially after the hectic days before the ship.

"You would make a good therapist," he told her.

"I am going to be a magical girl. My name is Final Nargle Invoker Luna. What kind of colour scheme you think I should go for in my uniform," she answered and Harry drew a complete blank.

He had a vague notion that magical girls had something to do with anime, maybe. He wasn't even sure which of him this nugget of information was courtesy of. Uniform, he wondered, was that like a school uniform or an army uniform? He watched Luna who was patiently waiting for his answer, the wind flapping her wispy blonde hair against the harsh metallic deck and the image of Luna in army fatigues fit that image rather well. She was the type who needed green grass and flowers and unicorns around her, not bare metal, and while he couldn't supply her unicorns in this world grass and flowers and pretty school uniforms – with ribbons –were doable.

"Pastel colours should go well with your hair, but I don't know if there are any pastel uniforms. White and blue are good colours for you, but yellow and pink should suit you too. And you should definitely have ribbons," he told her, realizing that it was so obvious now that most of his friends were girls; there was no way Ron or Dudley could have answered this. But at least he had been able to help her. It was funny, the way he most of the time had little idea what they were even talking about, but it didn't hamper the conversation any.

"I'm sure I'll be able to find something. I would offer for you to be the mysterious bad boy, but you aren't very mysterious or bad," Luna continued. Well, Quatre thought he was plenty mysterious, but at least he had managed to disabuse him of the notion that Dursleys were abusing him. He hoped.

And they watched the clouds some more. The Blibbering Humdinger made reappearance and turned out to be his now mauled coast of France. He imagined it with a beret perched on top.

* * *

Quatre couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the light humidity in the sea, for he was still much more comfortable in dry heat when trying to have rest, or maybe it was because his sleep schedule had been atrociously discombobulated since the beginning of the war, having to get up at any hour and taking catnaps whenever he could. Or maybe it was all the caffeine catching up with him, he didn't know, but whatever the reason was tonight, he just couldn't find comfort in sleeping. Quatre lay on his blanket with his head cradled by his folded back arms, staring up at the white ceiling of the small cabin. He had a bunk, not a bed, and there was a small metallic table by its side. There was a closet embedded into the wall and door that led to the bathroom, which had a real bathtub.

Granted, it was a small tub, the kind you had to sit on with your legs pressed against your chest, but it was still a real bathtub and taking a hot bath was feeling like a better and better idea all the time. He found it surprising how enjoyable he found that even in such hot climate. But at least now he could feel completely clean in a way the Umoja camp hadn't been able to provide due to the lacking room and time; guerillas didn't waste time with baths when showers were perfectly serviceable. Water was a resource to use carefully, if not outright ratio, in space too, but they certainly weren't short of water now, or of ways to desalinate it, and Quatre indulged himself in a long, if somewhat cramped, midnight soak.

He thought about the day before, as he rinsed his hair and white foam got into his eyes, making them sting. He thought how Harry had so strongly insisted that his family didn't abuse him, how he had first seemed surprised and then felt guilty… Quatre didn't change back into his pyjamas when he had toweled himself dry, but into his clothes. He felt a bit more relaxed now, but not sleepy.

"Maybe a little walk on the deck would be a good idea," he muttered and left his room, taking care to shut the door behind his back very quietly. The ship itself was making steady rumbling noise, but Rashid had the cabin next to his and the man was a very light sleeper, or rather a sleeper who was roused by sudden or deviant sounds. Quatre didn't want to wake him just because he couldn't get any sleep.

Anna the Atrocious Appaloosa – Quatre frowned, the name made him feel like there was a joke going on that he didn't understand – was a big ship. It was Suezmax, the largest size that could traverse the Suez Canal, with deadweight of two hundred forty thousand tons and width, or beam by nautical terms, of fifty meters and the distance from the surface of the water to the highest point was seventy meters. Most of that impressive size was taken by the cargo holds, but there were room for easily fifty people to live in the upper levels of the ship. Quatre found it a bit depressing: narrow, grey corridors with mouse-coloured carpets, small cabins, a canteen filled with long tables without tablecloths and bright, eye-catching red plastic chairs and one lonely artificial fichus tree trying to cheer the place. Duo claimed the homely places were the private places and the odd levels.

Quatre had asked what odd level meant. Duo had said there was a skull of an ox over the office of one of the recycling technicians. He had said that people usually didn't want to remember it, but they dealt with all the daily waste a human body made, making it into fertilizer and water, and sometimes even bodies after the funeral and that made people _unique_. This was a "wild ship", as they called the Sweeper ships, and the people had the freedom to be as strange as they wanted. Duo had said that the skull was the sign that the person working in that office was a cyber bokor. Quatre had wondered if that was the same as a hacker and decided he didn't really want to know.

At times it was painfully obvious how different their backgrounds were. A cyber voodoo black magic practitioner?

He was thinking of this when he walked past Duo's door on his way to the staircase and he noticed a faint line of light that came from under the long-haired boy's door. Happy that he wasn't the only one awake, he knocked to the door. A _click_ of the door unlocking and a muffled get in later he opened the door and stepped in. Duo was sitting cross-legged on the thread-bare fake-oriental rug on his cabin and his fingers were dancing on the keyboard of is laptop, his bangs hiding his face. His expression could have been content or enraged, sad or joyful for all Quatre could tell, but when he lifted his face he saw there was a devilish smile playing on the other boy's lips.

"Feeling restless, Kitty-Quat?" he asked. Quatre felt a corner of his left eye twitch.

"Must you call me by that atrocious name?" he asked, then remembered something he had inteded to ask for some time now. "Speaking of atrocious, what is the matter with the name of this ship? I take it is some kind of pun?" This made Duo chuckle.

"Yeah. You know, AAA?" he said. Even when he was watching Quatre his fingers continued their work surely as though he was reading Braille.

"There is something humorous about Anti-Advertising Agency?" Quatre asked, making Duo shake his head sadly.

"No, no, Alien Authorization Agency. You know, that means Alliance's On-World Immigration Agency. Which we are calling atrocious and a horse's behind." This coaxed a chuckle out of Quatre, though it was more out of start than real mirth – jokes were rarely funny when they had to be explained.

"Must no be circulating in L4," he said, though it might have been that he just hadn't spoken with the people who would make jokes like that before he had already been taken to Earth. "May I ask what you are doing?"

"I got this greatest new virus from the bokor I told you of, it overwrites the mainframe of pretty much anything, and I'm making the stuff it overwrites with." Duo turned the laptop on his lap so Quatre could see the screen and pressed command-enter.

There were animated characters that had clearly been based on Treize Kushrenada, Commander Une and the Lightning Count, all very small and chubby and cute, and the background was from a simple platform game that looked kind of familiar, though Quatre couldn't tell what game it was. Kushrenada was sitting at the bottom with his legs crossed in a feminine way, sipping wine with his pinky finger crooked and his teeth glittering with huge sparkles; very unflattering image of him. Commander Une was appearing here and there, the platform around her exploding with bright yellow and red flashes, with subtitles for maniacal laughter appearing around her. Zechs Merquise simply floated in the air, white hair around him like a saint's halo in an old icon.

"I'm going to make Heero chase him across the screen in the Wing," Duo said and ended the display. Quatre imagined every single file on a mainframe of an Alliance system being replaced by this and several chuckles escaped him, this time out of real amusement. Still…

"Isn't this kind of involved and pointless?" he had to ask. Anything would have done, a single line that said BAD OZZIES, NO COOKIE. Allah, he almost shuddered as he caught himself thinking that, he was beginning to think like Duo; it was contagious!

"Ah, ah, Kitty-Quat! Involved and pointless is half the fun! You should give it a try." Duo was shaking his finger, admonishing him. Quatre wasn't used to associating war with fun, but that was Duo for you, always searching for the silver line in a cloud and if none were to be found he made one.

"Well, maybe you could give Merquise a bad hair day whenever Heero catches up with him?" he proposed and settled down gracefully. The carpet didn't offer much cushion, but Quatre was used to sitting on ground and it didn't bother him.

"I love the way you think," Duo said, voice a low purr, as friendly as always.

"I should hope so, considering that you expect me to help you making cartoons. I suspect I'd be ordered to report to a psychologist for evaluation if anyone were to learn I agreed to it." Quatre went for his best dry voice, the one he had copied from his father. He didn't like to think of his father, the way their ideological differences had created a rift between them, but he had to admit they were similar in sheer stubbornness if nothing else.

"No way, I've got it covered! It's a training exercise, you see. You're just de-moralizing the enemy with devious propaganda," Duo explained with exited voice. And Quatre was quick to let his tone drop.

"Ah. That will look much better on my schedule than playing with video games." Bantering with Duo was fun, but there was still something he had decided to ask after all. "You said you got the virus from a bokor. Is that the same as a hacker?"

"Kind of, except it's also a religion to them. I don't know too much of it, always seemed like silly business to me, but they are good. The legits are called houngans and mambos."

In the end Quatre didn't do much, just sat there and offered moral support for Duo's venture to de-moralize the Oz. The ship was so big it didn't sway much, but he could feel the movement in his bones, sitting unmoving on the floor, mostly silent as well, letting Duo's chatter wash over him like a soothing rain. His eyes began to droop after an hour or so and he excused himself, returning to his own cabin. The day after tomorrow the story of Matthew Sisulu and Sirius Black would make the headlines. The day after tomorrow they would have to leave the ship before they left the international waters for Kemet's. He would have to part ways with Duo who had missions of his own to carry and Harry who would return to his home. But tomorrow he could still enjoy their company. Thinking of the next day Quatre finally fell asleep.

* * *

Finally it was almost time to go home and although Harry would miss Luna, Sirius, Quatre and Duo he was very happy about getting back to mum Petunia, dad Vernon, Dudley and his friends, even to his studies that he had neglected in an appalling way. They had eventually come up with a good story for Harry. It made him feel rather silly for not realizing sooner how easy it was. It was even true enough that no one could prove it wasn't all true.

"True enough is my favourite kind of lie," was how Sirius put it and something flashed in his eyes that reminded Harry of the man who had laughed in his parents' wedding picture. He felt a pang as he remembered that he had lost that picture too, the he would never again see him mum and dad wave at him, but he pushed the thought to the side.

Now they were sitting in a circle on the deck. Quatre had procured a red and white chequered quilt and a tea set somewhere. Their little picnic looked very out of place on the clanking metallic, sparse deck, gray and some painted red and white lines, but he had to have gotten it from somewhere in the ship. Quatre was at Harry's right side, Sirius was at his left and Duo was facing him. Duo was eating sweet bread and drinking already his second mug of coffee there. Quatre was having what Harry knew to be his fourth cup of tea that day. He had concluded they were both hopelessly addicted to caffeine and pitied any Oz soldier who might attack them in the morning before they'd had their fix.

"I like that," said Duo to Sirius and saluted with his coffee mug. Sirius glanced at him, but turned his head towards Harry soon. He seemed to hate leaving Harry out of his sight for long, like he might up and vanish. It was getting kind of stifling, actually, but he bore it. He had gotten to spend some me-time with Luna yesterday and he was leaving soon anyway.

"I thought you didn't lie?" Quatre asked Duo with a confused pout much too cute for anyone who could fly a flying behemoth like Sandrock.

"Not the lying, his attitude about it," Duo clarified… maybe. Quatre didn't seem much more enlightened than Harry felt.

According to this masterful blend of truth and lie Harry had been showing a boy whom he only knew as Qays Bitar around Smeltings, minding his own business, when a blonde girl who had introduced herself as Luna Lovegood had appeared and said that "a friend" had helped her escape and told where to go. Harry hadn't heard more because at this point Qays had ordered her to not speak of it until they were alone. And he had taken Harry captive so he couldn't alert the authorities to the going-ons. (Quatre had mumbled something about how that had basically been it and Harry had been too busy being a willing accomplice to notice to Duo, but Harry was convinced that it couldn't actually count as a kidnapping unless you forced the other party to come with you.) After this Harry had been taken to a cheap hotel room and left there under watch until Qays and his men had returned with three adults in tow and taken Harry with him to somewhere tropic that Harry was almost sure was Africa – there had been a jungle and monkeys and only dark-skinned people, and while jungle and monkeys weren't Africa exclusive the skin colour in the surroundings had been pretty solid proof.

Harry hadn't understood the language spoken in this camp, though he could repeat a few choice words that would indentify it as Swahili. This was true. He could describe the insides of the camp as long as he didn't mention the small air port or their water collecting plant or give them a corrects layout of the place, and he wasn't supposed to be aware of details like that in any case since he had been kept under lock and key until he had been stowed to the mobile suit again.

"You will in all likelihood be asked to describe the innards of the suit you were in," Quatre said. Harry nodded solemnly.

"I'll lie through my teeth. But, um, what parts am I supposed to lie about?" he asked. He had a good memory and he could describe the monitors and screens and other thingamajigs. He just wanted to know what kind of things he was supposed to lie about.

"Here, take this," Quatre ordered and handed Harry a small data pad. Not even a real laptop, only an electric notebook, and there was a list of apparatus, what they had looked like and what Qays had done with them. Harry scrolled the list down until the flicker of black and white made his eyes water. It was a nonsensible to him, but he figured he only had to be able to parrot it.

Then Harry had been taken to another small African rebel base where they had spoken a different language – this one would be identified as Karamojong. After a few days he had been dropped off on the coast of England. This was an elegant solution that would allow Harry to return to his family, Quatre feed strategic misinformation to the Oz via snippets Harry had "happened to listen in on to" while not compromising anyone and ensure the press publicised that Harry had _not _been mistreated in any way beyond restricting his movements, but it all hinged on Harry's ability to pull it off convincingly.

"They will be predisposed to believe you, as you are a victim, but they will debrief you thoroughly to get all pertinent information concerning us and they will become suspicious if you fail to keep your story consistent," Quatre told him, face stern. It was McGonagall kind of sternness, the kind that only meant for his own best, and the way Harry cracked up as he imagined Quatre with the transfiguration professor's bun and glasses and long, green robes didn't help Quatre's glare any, but damn, McGonagall's prim expression on Quatre's face was a funny thought. And Quatre in tartan. "You will also be expected to have counselling as this has been a traumatizing experience. I wouldn't recommend feigning anything as complicated as PTSD, but you will have to be affected."

"Don't worry, I can do that," Harry assured him and Duo and Sirius. Lying had never been his forte, but then again, he had always had to make his lies up on the spot; this time he had a ready-made story. As for the counselling, well…

There had been the Dementors, grey, decaying faces with only hungry mouth without lips cloaked in black, that had made him relive his barely-existing memories of his parents' death, made him listen to his father ordering his mother to run and his mother to plead Voldemort for his life. Then he had been sent there, and it wasn't like being Harry Dursley was a fate worse that death, _unlike_ the Kiss, but he had lost Ron and Hermione and everyone, and maybe he hadn't lost them for good after all and then he would have to _pick _and there was no way to do that without betraying someone and he didn't want to betray anyone. He had been replaced by Harry-two. And, of yeah, in the grey space he had seen a vision of his parents having sex. He made himself not think of it again, but he nodded, feeling suddenly tired rather than mad. He was sure he could squeeze some trauma out for the therapist.

Quatre's hand seized his arm suddenly, making Harry start and then wince as the grip wasn't light.

"There is something wrong. You keep insisting it isn't the Dursleys, but no one living quiet middle class teenager life should have to feel like that!" The wind was flowing Quatre's hair around his face and Harry's hair in front of his eyes, but nothing could hide him from this confrontation.

"How can I make you believe me when I can't even convince you of my, forget it!" Harry was moving his arms in frustrated circles. He didn't like lying, he only ever lied to keep out of trouble and now his lies were getting him into troubles, but it wasn't that he was even telling lies, he just wasn't telling the truth because if Quatre wouldn't believe he was magical how could he believe Harry when he said he was from another dimension? And now he had made Sirius glare. There was a pressure building inside him, hot and searing, end everything snapped into sharp focus in Harry's mind, sounds terribly clear and sharp, his vision so sharp he could see and count every individual hair that flew to Quatre's face, every eyelash around Sirius' worried, dark eyes. And he pointed to Quatre's silly, flower-adorned teacup with his forefinger.

"_Hedgehog!" _he ordered it, hissed it in the language of snakes, and in his mind's eye he saw it, an utterly satisfying vision where there was a hedgehog on the deck and Quatre would have to believe him now. And just like that his reality took a different shape and where there had been white and blue and golden porcelain now there was a small, cute animal, brown and all spikes.

Silence reigned.

He figured he always performed best under pressure.

* * *

And then there was much pointing and gaping and stuttering and gaping and disbelief that Luna Lovegood found very amusing, but also strange. She knew things, saw things, heard things. This tended to make her life rather difficult. It was partly because her Sight seemed to be where other people kept something else, something vital that let them be together with other people. Luna, she wasn't often together with others, but the others just happened to be there. Other part of it was that for all her knowledge she didn't understand everything. She was just a twelve-year-old girl, although a mature one, and while she had no difficulties understanding why nightingales sung and talking with fairies and seeing the beauty in the skeletal horses that pulled the Hogwarts' carriages much of humankind left her flummoxed.

(She had always liked words like flummoxed and sizzle; she liked words that sounded like what they were. In her experience honesty like that was rare in words and people both.)

Sleeping in the little cabin she had been given in Anna the Atrocious Appaloosa was a little like sleeping in a dragon's stomach; it was dark and so hot she had to kick the blankets away and still the sheet clung to her sweaty skin, and the rumbling and gurgling sounds the ship made sounded from below her. She was staring to the ceiling that had been painted white and tried to fall asleep. Dim light, starlight and moonlight and yellow shiplight, came in from the small, round window on the wall and cast lighter patches on the walls. Luna wondered about what Anna had done that she was so atrocious. She was thinking about onomatopoeia and words like rumble and gurgle and how they were like flummox. It was like the old joke.

_Knock-knock. Who's there?_

Luna was thinking about Harry and how trouble seemed to follow at his heels like a well-trained dog. She was thinking about how he was nice enough to not care about her Sight and how he was together with her instead of just there. This made her feel all warm inside, but it wasn't dragon heat like the ships', it was nice warm. She had a real friend for the first time in her life and while she was sad her parents were so worried – she had been allowed to speak with them for a little while – she didn't regret anything.

_Boo_

Luna knew other things were approaching fast, adult flummox-things. There was a little thing and a moderately big thing and a huge thing that left her most flummoxed of all. Why should the world be so surprised and scared and elated and, and flummoxed that he had something as natural and right as magic? She knew well people could be mean and cruel to those who were different, but she was a little twelve-year-old girl and didn't understand the greed and ambition of adults very well.

_Boo who?_

Luna Lovegood didn't get much sleep that night.

_Don't cry, I was only joking_

* * *

AN: Nothing gets you reviews like asking people to help you swear. That is, thank you all for your help! There were some surprises; female dog, for example, isn't nearly as bad a word in Finnish as it appears to be in English. I guess some of Molly Weasley's ire was lost in translation.

Current day: June 2. (Or 3, the time of night is undetermined.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter IX: Red sky in the morning**

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

* * *

Quatre was sitting in his cabin, staring the screen of his laptop, the white of the text editor, and trying desperately to come up with some way to explain this that would make sense, or at least wouldn't get him sent to psychological evaluation for real.

He was also aware that IF, and it was a big if, he managed to convince Instructor H that magic was real and Harry and Luna had it, he would probably get reprimanded for taking Harry back to London, but Harry was thirteen, what was he supposed to do? Besides, should they later need Harry's help with something he doubted Harry would refuse them. He pressed the keys hesitantly.

_HD has displayed advanced abilities of both teleportation (PK-TL from now on), which I believe to be a previously unrecorded type of PK,__ PK-ST and strong PK-LT._

PK-LT was an ability to influence a living thing and as far as Quatre knew there wasn't a single test that would have empirically proved such a thing existed at all; it was commonly believed to be just an urban legend. But it was something he could use.

_HD transported __35 people, including himself, the Lovegood family, 04 and his men from Oz London main base to a motel room 4.2 miles to north-east during operation Lovegood (see attached file for more details). He has claimed having never before used PK-TL even to transport himself._

Quatre hesitated, then deleted the last sentence. He sat straighter and stretched, feeling his back give a satisfying pop. His computer was on the small metallic bedside table and he was sitting in front of it in a slightly too high chair that couldn't be adjusted.

_HD transported 35 people, including himself, Lovegood family, 04 and his men from Oz London main base to a motel room 4.2 miles to north-east during operation Lovegood (see attached file for more details). He used PK-TL on second and third occasion in Uganda, Entebbe, when he transported Matthew Sisulu, Sirius Black and Esther Corel from their cells in Entebbe prison during operation Sisulu (see attached file for more details) and when he transported 2 men out of a burning car after a car crash.__ The sensations use of PK-TL result in include temporary cessation of visual and auditory stimulus and the sensation of pressure: the filer__ was pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, it was as though there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his ear-drums were being pushed deeper into his skull._

So far so good, strange and unprecedented, but still believable. Quatre too a sip from the cup he had forgotten on his desk and grimaced at the taste of cold tea. He swallowed it anyway and put the cup down with a clink, then inhaled and exhaled deeply several times in a row. Qamar, his eldest sister, had done these breathing exercises when she had been pregnant with her first child and Quatre had done them with her, curious of all things related with pregnancy. Later he had discovered that the technique helped with both fighting pain and clearing his head.

He had gotten used to writing reports, to the point that whatever English (or Arabian or French) teacher he might have at any given moment tended to despair at his uninspired prose whenever he was required to write an essay. It shouldn't be this difficult.

No, it should. Allah forbid should his life ever get crazy enough he got used to this kind of thing.

_HD demonstrated ability of object deformation (PK-ST) and ability to change the mass of an object by transforming a __teacup_

No.

_HD demonstrated ability of object deformation (PK-ST), ability to change the mass of an object and PK-LT by transforming an unanimated ceramic object (__teacup) into an organic being (hedgehog)._

Delete.

_It wasn't merely a hedgehog-shaped object of organic mass but a living hedgehog. LL claimed it as her magical girl mascot animal._

Delete.

_It was magic._

He deleted row after row, dissatisfied. This was no good. How was he supposed to convince Instructor H of Harry's abilities when he could barely bring himself to believe them? He desperately needed something that would make it more complicated yet simpler, something that would conform to a set of physical laws, be empirical and measurable. Anything that wasn't "magic made it happen". The law of to the conservation of mass-energy, for example. The total energy in a closed or isolated system was constant, no matter what happened. Another law stated that the mass in an isolated system was constant. When Einstein discovered the relationship _E_=_mc_2, in other words that mass was a manifestation of energy, the law was said to refer to the conservation of mass-energy. The total of both mass and energy was retained, although some might change forms. Which meant that there was no feasible way for a fine bone china teacup to transform into nine hundred grams of hedgehog. Without taking into account turning non-organic material _into a living being_.

"Allah, why me?" he asked, but he wasn't surprised when he received no answer. He was also very aware of the fact that Harry had neglected to explain how he and Luna being magical explained his issues that surfaced when his family was mentioned that bordered mental trauma. His eyes had dared Quatre to ask, defiant in their belief that Quatre didn't want to hear this explanation, and they were right. He didn't want to hear it yet, not before he had come to terms with what he had already learned. But Harry had won only a battle of delay. He would get to the bottom of this and help his friend, whether he wanted to be helped or not.

Teacup hedgehog. Why him? And why was Duo so amused, he was required to write a report too!

* * *

Harry was standing in the deck, talking with Luna and Sirius. There was a note of longing between him and Luna and outright desperation Sirius was showing, like they wouldn't ever meet again. And Harry forced himself to be honest. Who knew how long the war would go on? He couldn't meet Sirius maybe for years to come, and Luna was the same.

And he wouldn't be here to meet them anyway, it would be the other him only. He had to remember that.

"How are they treating you in that school of yours? Nobody bullies you, right? And you have a close group of friends?" Sirius worried. His face looked more sunken in than it had yesterday and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Harry swallowed; it was like a big piece of Smeltings' horrible kidney had gotten stuck in his throat.

"It's fine, I'm a good student and no one bullies me. I have Ibie and Lai and Mike and Zoe and Dudley of course." It still felt strange saying that, but also nice. "They must all be climbing walls now." He grimaced. He just couldn't help feeling guilty, and he would have to lie to them too. If it had been Ron and Hermione they would have been here with him… but if not for Hermione he wouldn't be here… Harry stopped that train of thought before it even really begun. Maybe it was avoidance, so what? It wasn't like he could change the past. Unless he had a time turner like Hermione had, and how should he make one? He probably needed a time turner to get back home.

"Mostly girls? You heartbreaker, you. Just like your dad, though he still waited two more years," Sirius teased him with a big grin that made his white teeth gleam against his reddish, slightly sunburned skin, making Harry grin in a silly manner even though it kind of annoyed him too. They were just friends, like him and Luna too!

"You turned a teacup into a hedgehog," Sirius said with no relation to the conversation before it and now Harry swallowed a small whimper. If he had known what kind of three ring circus this would turn into he would have taken Quatre's attempt to make him talk about his traumatic past instead.

There had been over three, count them, three hours of pointing and repeating the words teacup and hedgehog and magic, and the same questions over and over again. How, why, why didn't he tell before, what else could he do, who else could? He hadn't thought it would be that big a shock… except what else it could have been, the side that was Harry Dursley asked the side that was Harry Potter, making Harry worry about magical schizophrenia once more. Dursley was like the little devil, or angel – it was hard to tell when he didn't have any kind of wings – sitting on his shoulder, for once not wearing Smeltings' uniform, but jeans and T-shirt. He also looked quite smug.

Not that Harry actually saw him on his shoulder, if he had _then_ he would have _really_ worried about his sanity. It should be noted that he had just an overactive imagination. Really.

"Yes, I thought that should be persuasive," he explained what felt like the hundredth time; he hadn't actually counted.

"It was really nice of you," said Luna, petting the hedgehog on her arm, mindful of the spines. Initially the small creature, which Luna had declared to be an European hedgehog, had been terrified out of its wits and curled into a ball that had been passed from hand to hand until Luna had called a stop to the hedgehog abuse and claimed the brown, cute thing as her mascot animal, naming him Edgar. She had fed Edgar eggs and a tiny portion of raw mincemeat, informing them that giving milk or other dairy products would cause a hedgehog to have stomach pains. Now Edgar was letting her carry himself, looking quite happy with the arrangement.

"Well, I'm glad you are happy," Harry said not insincerely, even though Edgar the Magical Hedgehog still made random appearances in any conversation he tried to have.

"How did you do it?" Sirius asked again.

"I imagined the teacup changing and then channeled my magical core." His answer hadn't changed either. The next question would be what was magical core and that one was tricky as Harry wasn't too sure himself.

"Next time you have to convince someone could you make me a spatterdash?" Luna asked. Harry remembered the soldiers and the hypothetical frog and the limo Quatre had taken them to the motel with, wondering for the first time what had happened to it; it had been really sweet, devil red and sleek. Oh, Dudley would throttle him for this, he was such a car enthusiasts.

"A leather legging?" Sirius asked, red sky behind his back. It was the kind of sky Harry had only seen in movies and post cards before, deep red with blackish-red clouds and the sea at the horizon seemed to almost be on fire.

"No, a tree-frog from Amazon!" Harry and Luna shouted as one, laughing. But Harry was left staring at the red clouds when Luna began to explain how a leather legging related to a frog, frowning. The sun had already risen, why were the clouds still red?

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning," he muttered. He wondered what that old-adage was about.

"Usually, weather moves from west to east at sea," Duo's voice sounded from behind Harry, making him jump and meep in an embarrassingly unmanly way. He turned and gave the grinning pilot a reproaching glare, but Duo was entirely unapologetic. He was wearing a too big, dark green oil coat, a sensible thing in the wind that had picked up and stole all the sun's warmth, making Harry shiver in his light jacket. The wind that was making even more of a mess of Harry's hair than it usually was and made Sirius and Luna's resemble dark and golden halos around their heads barely lifted the end of Duo's long, thick braid.

"When we see a red sky at night it usually indicates high pressure and stable air coming in from the west. Basically good weather will follow. If the morning sky is a deep fiery red, it means a high water content in the atmosphere. So, rain is on its way. So, say, that hedgehog…" Duo changed topics and Harry whimpered; he couldn't help it. At least Duo only wanted to know if he could change car batteries into Gogol's machines. That was a new one.

"I guess. I would have to know what Gogol's machine was first," he answered, tasting the name in his mouth. It sounded vaguely Russian, but most names that started with gol did. It didn't mean anything.

"Heh, see, Quatre. That's why I ain't worried," he shouted over his shoulders to the door which had just opened. Quatre and his men walked out, like a duckling chick and many fussy, worried big brother ducklings, all in a line because the stairs had been too narrow to walk side by side.

"I fail to see how this makes writing the report any easier," Quatre almost snapped. Harry hadn't thought about it, but now that Quatre had mentioned the word report he could see how trying to explain magic without handy hedgehog demonstration could be problematic. Luckily it wasn't his problem.

"G's the practical kind. He would believe it the tooth fairy if it made him Gogol's machines," Duo said and laughed at the face Quatre made, and Harry had to swallow a snort as well.

"This is the good bye, then. Don't worry, we will meet again," Luna said, giving Harry a one-armed hug. Harry draped his both arms around her, mindful of Edgar.

"We will for sure," he promised and squeezed her harder before turning to Sirius. He didn't waste a second but grabbed Harry into a bear hug that lifted his feet off the deck and made him gape like a fish on dry land, trying to draw breath.

"Take care, kid." He tried to say something more, but it came out as little more than a wet noise. Harry hugged him back and kicked his feet in the air until Sirius let him down.

"You take care too, Sirius. Don't do anything dad wouldn't have done," he admonished his godfather and Sirius gave him a wavering grin.

Quatre, Duo and the Maguanacs called the mobile suits from underwater with remote controllers that didn't seem outward too different from the standard televisions controllers, though a lot sturdier. It was like watching giants rise from the sea, water flowing from ancient armour as the suits hovered in the red sun, faces indifferent and unreadable, watching over puny humankind. One by one they hovered over the ship and Harry noticed that now the sailors had appeared from wherever it was they did the actual sailing, watching as they climbed into the bellies of the giants. He and Quatre both stood on the thick pole of the simple lift and climbed into the cockpit. He fastened himself to the harness with ease now.

He waved to Luna and Sirius as the hatch closed, but the last thing he saw was the red sunlight glittering on the wet gundanium. He couldn't help but feel a bit ill at ease. It was only a weather prediction, he knew it, and still _sailors take warning_ echoed in his head. Red sky in the morning…

"But it breaks the laws of nature," Quatre complained as he piloted Sandrock up to the sky, making Harry wish there was something he could bang his head against.

"Luckily that's not a punishable offense," he snarked, leaning back against the wall, hoping the uncomfortable trip would be soon over, red sky and bad feeling forgotten.

It turned out to be a long flight and an uncomfortable one at that. Harry was hesitant to invite conversation with Quatre because lately their conversations only had one topic and that was magic. And so, strapped to the wall, standing in the small niche and staring the back of a blond head Harry's thoughts wandered.

"Why are you blond when you are, well, not from Kemet, but you are an Arabian, right?" he asked over the silent rumble of the machine flying them when he couldn't bear the silence anymore.

"My family is originally from the state of Karachay-Cherkess, the people tend to be rather fair there. Nowadays we live in L4 of course." Quatre took his eyes from the monitor and turned his head, looking over his shoulder. His eyes were very piercing in the bluish light.

"What is magic?" he asked.

Harry felt his mouth drop open. That no one had asked him before, that was something he hadn't even thought to ask when he had still been in his real… Potter world, at Hogwarts. It had just been something they did, like a magical profession and training for it like the muggles went to schools to learn theirs, but now he also remembered when he had stayed at Burrows and Mrs. Weasley had so casually used her magic for cooking and cleaning, how Mr. Weasley had used a cutting hex to mow the lawn after they had carefully de-gnomed it. The wizards had silly, unnecessary spells for turning someone's ears into elephant's ears and making pink soap bubbles come out of a person's mouth every time he tried to speak, they played magical games and owned magical pets, magical house plants, magical everything. Wizards and witches wouldn't think twice about it all, they used their magic easy and natural as breathing. It was their everything. Harry imagined wizards like the Malfoys would starve to death among filth if they were required to care for themselves without magic, without house elves, and even the best of purebloods were like Arthur Weasley who though energy drinks had batteries at the bottom and television had little people inside. Which was kind of scary considering it was part of his job description to know of muggle technology.

Harry Potter knew how to live magic, but how to explain it? Harry Dursley was the one who had the words, Harry Dursley was the one who had read books about magic and warriors and dragons; Harry Potter hadn't been allowed within mile radius of the suburban library with a fantasy section in case he absorbed some of the freakishness through osmosis or something. Even prized, coddled, spoiled Dudley hadn't been allowed to watch the Highlander from television and he always got everything he wanted.

"Magic, it draws its power from a deep well in the centre of the human soul," he said and he quoted from Sorceress of Red Planet – where the red planet referred to the main character's fantastical horoscope rather than living on planet not-Mars-but-equivalent. "Magic is power inside me, but it's art also. The difference between magic and painting is that the painter creates the canvas while I paint on the world." Painting hedgehogs on the world, that was a nice thought, wasn't it? Maybe if Aunt Petunia had thought of it like that she wouldn't have been so scared.

_Wait a second._

For the first time in his life Harry realized that Aunt Petunia and even big, intimidating Uncle Vernon had been afraid. It was like the world tilted on its axis and it was raining sardines; surreal, unreal, yet undeniable true because it had happened. He remembered a surly mouth thinned into a pale line, remembered eyes that shone with some mad mania the night they had escaped the letters into a small rocky island. How Dudley hadn't bothered him at all before they realized he wasn't allowed to do magic during summer. They had been scared of Harry, small and thin in too big clothes, treated like a boy Cinderella his whole life.

Harry was someone to be scared of. Well, not really unless you were really deserving, but still. It was kind of neat, but on the other hand he wasn't sure he quite liked it. The thought made him feel villainous, somehow.

"Sorry, a worldview-changing epiphany," he mumbled to Quatre who had no doubt felt the thing happen.

He was a nicer person than he had thought he was? Well, he hadn't ever really thought about it, but if he had he wouldn't have thought he was this noble. They had been afraid he wouldn't have taken advantage, beyond making sure he was fed and not padlocked into his room and stuff. It was a nice kind of discovery for a change.

"Painting hedgehogs into the world? That sounds nice," Quatre said with a wistful voice, his head turned back to the monitors. Harry knew he wished he was magical too, just for that. And he understood!

"Spatterdashes too. And Gogol's machines?" he asked, wondering what Gogol's machines did. Maybe they were some kind of Gundam parts? And he could see clear as day how Quatre's shoulders stiffened.

"I think I would prefer that you only needed to make hedghogs," he said.

"Me too," Harry admitted. He reached forward and squeezed Quatre's shoulder and thought: this boy kidnapped you, get used to the thought now or you will not convince anyone of it. It was a sad thought.

"But how did you do it?" Quatre asked for the hundredth time. Harry put his face into his hands and moaned.

* * *

Matthew Sisulu was sitting under a tree, enjoying the sun and the ground and the freedom. Certainly it was only partial freedom; he couldn't walk down a road in any city without fear of arrest. But though his movements were restricted, those restrictions were placed upon him only by his own common sense and that made all the difference.

"This issue has been downloaded eight million times already. The site went down, but the mirror sites still distribute," Hallow Nguen said, twiddling a reader pad in her hands, a proud smile gracing her lips.

Sisulu grinned; the newest issue of Kampala Times had blown the lid off in the Uganda Government's Investigation Bureau, SAF's Investigation Bureau, the Alliance's Central Intelligence Agency and most likely also the Romefeller Foundation, though that couldn't be verified. A bounty of ten million dollars had been offered from him and Sirius both, two millions for the previously small fry Corel for his part in the great reveal, twenty-two millions as a whole. About as much for the three of them put together as for one Gundam pilot; not bad from non-coms.

Matthew's part of the news didn't reveal any new big secrets, to be truthful, but it publicised opinions and truths the Alliance really would have preferred to never hear of again, least of all in public forum and even now thousands of people were flocking under his flag, convening demonstrations and walkouts and joining the fight. Corel was the one whose reveals of his old employer were the wet dream of every conspiracy theorist. Put together the effect was bound to bea staggering strike against the Alliance.

"I don't like violence, but _we_ didn't start this," he told Hallow, frowning. He remembered Mathilda, her zeal and charisma that had inspired so many, how she had been ready to negotiate and change the system from within, but they hadn't taken her up on the offer.

Mathilda had collected stamps. She'd had this strange habit, almost a compulsion, to eat her plate empty counter-clockwise and she had arranged the food on it accordingly. Her laughter had been very unfeminine snorting and that was why she hadn't liked laughing in public. Sirius had had a crush mile wide for her and Matthew had been so sure that they would become an item eventually once Sirius got the guts to confess. Mathilda had wanted to have children, eventually. When they had been children she had always made them healthy lunch for school as their both parents had to leave for work before they woke up, whole grain bread with turkey and tomatoes and pumpkin bread for dessert and Matthew had thrown it all to the bin in secret whenever he'd had the money to buy hamburgers and chocolate cookies from the cafeteria.

Mathilda would never become a mother now, never marry, never make him lunch again. He would eat sprouts and drink carrot juice seven days a week if she only were there to make them now, but that could never be. He would never hear her laughter again, he didn't even know what had happened to her collection of stamps.

"I miss her so much, but I try to keep my spirits high. She told me to not waste my life being angry and miserable for her, it was the last thing she ever said to me" he confessed. He didn't know why he was so melancholic now when he had managed to be reasonably happy even in prison. Hallow squeezed his arm.

"You got away and continue the fight; I'm sure that would have made her happy," she said awkwardly, with a stifled voice. Some sort of pollen in the air obviously disagreed with her and Hallow's nose was red and dripping and her voice like someone had stuffed her mouth full of paper. She was pressing a handkerchief to her nose delicately; she had said that sneezing irritated her sinuses.

She was sitting by him, in clothes that surely passed as practical for her; she had abandoned her white, feminine skirt suit and silk camisole for dark blue jeans and grey, classic single breasted jacket. She still looked rather out of place, but also eager to do her best and frankly adorable despite the nose. Matthew felt his fate flush and praised his skin tone was too dark to let it show, but he just smiled brotherly. It could just be that she was the first woman he'd had a real conversation with in years and if that was the case he didn't want to take advantage of her. She was quite brave – he hadn't been all too sure she really would publish the article when he had first requested a meeting with her – and she deserved better than that.

"Put that thing away now!" someone shouted, and there were running steps on the rough gravel. Matthew and Hallow's heads snapped up as one to see a man they didn't know in green camouflage clothing that was dirty with motor oil.

"Why?" asked Hallow, startled. Matthew frowned at his behavior. He was aware that several people here probably perceived Hallow as soft and high-bred, but that was no excuse for behavior like that.

"I wasn't aware there were regulations that prohibited personal access to the net," he said bitingly. Sure, there could be, but this wasn't the way to inform anyone.

"It's not that, someone's set off a logic bomb!" the man shouted.

Matthew and Hallow looked at each other again, eyes wide, and she pressed the power button hastily to forcibly shut the little computer off. The mobile suits had quickly become the symbols of the war, Gundams stealing the lime light, but even more important warfare was waged that had more impact on most people's lives than the mobile suit warfare ever did: war on communications. Oz sabotaged the colony communications stations and destroyed rogue colony satellites, colonies responded by hacking into Oz satellites, rebuilding their own and building new ones. Messages were intercepted, scrambled and imitated. Whole countries dropped off the Internet at the drop of a hat, hundreds of lives were lost when one side managed to penetrate the other's computer network, millions of any given currency were lost when stock exchange transactions were sabotaged. But this was all done separately.

Logic bomb was the greatest boogie man of all. The hostile ghost in the machine, hard to implement, but once it went off within a system it was impossible to root out without taking the whole network of systems down. Logistics networks were disabled, television and radio transmissions jammed and hijacked, information hashed and re-routed. Cross-connections, garbled text, crossed order-response loops and spontaneous memory core dumps, everything at once except the merciful loss of connection, money stolen and secure transmissions publicized. Every military service in the world depended on information systems; no commanding officer wanted to send his men out or order a strike when operating blind, that was a nightmare. Yet it was a measure rarely implemented for there was no fool-proof way to contain the effects; just like radiation didn't respects borders between nations logic bombs tended to spread to networks they hadn't been meant to affect.

Which meant this was probably an inside job; by someone who didn't have a network of their own to protect, who didn't care what happened to the civilian networks, or allies.

"There is no lying about it anymore; we are at civil war," said Hallow, looking frankly like she was about to throw up.

"I guess my bounty was just bumped down by whoever did this," Matthew joked, but it fell flat in his ears. He had been working towards this, yes, but now that it had really happened… For good or ill, through the difficult and worse, Uganda was at war and most likely at total state of anarchy soon, so help them God.

* * *

The flight ended near Brighton. Harry had been to Brighton twice before on a holiday. The dazzling, exotic creamy white Indian-looking Royal Pavilion and the cheerful Brighton Pier with the good restaurants, he had seen those and the pebble beach. It was a bright, happy childhood memory where everything was sunny and tasty and great. He was near the sea now, not so near he could have seen it, but the salty smell of it was clear in the air. Sussex countryside could be beautiful later in summer, but now everything was mainly flat and brown and grey.

It was close enough to Brighton that help would arrive quickly once Harry called for it. It was strange to think, he mused, that the adventure was over just like that. He would return to home and everything would return to normal. As normal as his life ever got, anyway. And he could start to think if returning back to Potter world was possible and how. It was just so… anticlimactic. Peaceful. Not that he didn't like the idea of some peace, but he couldn't help but expect for the other shoe to drop, somehow.

"I guess this is a farewell now," he said awkwardly, craning his neck looking up to the open hatch where Quatre was on his knees, looking down on him. It had barely been dawn when they had left, now it was near midday. He might be home in time for dinner… if they let him go straight home, that was.

"I believe we will meet again, as much as I might prefer to leave you in peace," Quatre answered and ducked his head. He looked vaguely guilty for some reason.

"I'm glad to help!" Harry hurried to reassure him. "But if I can make a request, please don't make the next absence this long." Better that way for everyone's peace of mind.

"I will do my best," Quatre promised and stood again, stepped out of Harry's line of sight and the hatch closed. The thought that something shaped like a Gundam shouldn't fly so smoothly crossed Harry's mind again as Sandrock rose from the ground with minimum fuss and noise, like a giant metallic fairy, and flew away practically licking the dirt to keep under the radar. The grey clouds hung so low over the land Harry almost thought the mobile suit would brush them. Ah, English weather, so nice to re-acquaintance.

Quatre had grumbled something about Deathscythe's cloaking system before. Harry marvelled at the thought that something that big could be turned invisible.

When Sandrock had disappeared from sight he looked around himself and saw a stone sticking out of the short, brownish grass. It was round and smooth so he sat down on it and took the phone Quatre had given him from his pocket. It was a sleek, wine red thing, the kind you flipped open. Electronics could only get so small before unfortunately big human fingers couldn't handle them well and this phone was definitely skimming the edges. It was a pre-paid, untraceable to any buyer and only good for three more days. Good enough for Harry to make these calls, and he would call for the police of Brighton, but first he had to call home. He pressed the numbers one after another until only the last remained and then he waited long enough that the little screen went dark. He didn't know what had come upon him, but suddenly making the call felt terribly final. Something he could never take back. But, honestly, what was he going to do? He would go back to Mum Petunia and Dad Vernon and Dudley and meet all his friends again.

He pressed the last number and the screen lit up with greenish light. He pressed the green handset, then lifted the phone to his ear. It rang five times before Mum Petunia's voice answered.

"Mum Petunia, it's me, Harry," he said and Petunia screamed, with joy or surprise or anger or fright, he couldn't tell. "I'm near Brighton. I'm all right. I love you," he said.

"Harry! Oh God, Vernon, it's Harry! Where have you been?" she pleaded with a tearful voice. Now Harry felt lower than dirt. He kicked a patch of dirt and made it fly.

"I was showing Qays Bitar around when this blonde girl in a red coat appeared. She said her name was Luna Lovegood and her friend had helped her escape from somewhere. I thought it was very suspicious, but then, before I could ask anything, Qays threatened me with a gun! He had a gun to school, mum! They took me to the greenhouse for a little while, and guess what? He turned out to be a Gundam pilot," Harry babbled away, sounding a bit scared and eager to tell the tale, at least he thought so. The wind was chilly and the chill crept up into his bones from the rock so Harry stood up and hopped up and down a bit. He probably looked completely ridiculous.

"He was a WHAT? He threatened you with a GUN?" mum Petunia shouted. Harry made noises that sounded agreeable to him and thought: I'm sorry, mum Petunia.

"Are you all right, son? That scum didn't do anything to you, did he?" dad Vernon's voice asked now.

"I'm fine, don't worry, I'm just stranded near Brighton," he reassured dad Vernon. After that things begun to happen fast.

* * *

Neo Camander was sitting at his desk in his house and eating a cupcake. He had lost a lot of weight since he moved to Great Britain that he was only now beginning to regain. He was still getting used to the interesting things these British people ate, but no one could ruin a cupcake, thank God. Everything around him was in perfect order and impeccably spotless and shining. He was a bit of a housewife, but there was nothing wrong with wanting to live in a clean house. At least one part of his life was in order.

The radio was playing on the background, some romantic balled. Neo was used to listening to music when he worked, though usually he tuned it all out.

Harry Dursley was still missing and there was no saying what could have happened to him. Qays Bitar had turned out to be a non-existent person and this interest shown in a person Walburga Black had shown interest seemed terribly convenient to him. There were crumbs all over the tabletop and Neo gathered them to his fingers the best he could and licked them off of them, staring at the empty white of the text editor of his computer. It was an occupational hazard; to not be able to leave work at work. He hated failing in general, but more than anything he hated failing Walburga Black. Failing her was not something one would ever be allowed to forget.

Finally he gave up and rose to his feet. It was, if not exactly beautiful day outside, at least a day it wasn't raining and he was going to take a walk. He reached towards the computer to shut it down, but his eyes brushed the golden and blue mask hanging on the wall above the desk and he frowned.

Like so many things in Neo Camander, beginning with his name and ending in his fictional engagement to a woman who lived in Canada – that wasn't for professional reasons, but to keep annoying women off his back – his hippie lifestyle was entirely fake, a part he played, a quirk the men in the station could smirk at and not feel intimidated. He had let his hair grow and added little touches to his clothes when he worked and wore poncho pullover baja hoodies when he was free – the name still made him snicker in secret. He had decorated his house appropriately, but occasionally it could annoy him. There was a golden and blue Hindu wooden mask of Kali, the goddess of death, hanging on his wall and it was more cute than frightening to his opinion, looking like a cross between a little girl and a woman trying to look seductive and failing miserably. But it also had a stuck-out tongue, as Kali was always described, and for all it was irrational Neo felt the mask was mocking him. He turned its face to the wall.

This was when his computer made a small sound; the program he had secretly uploaded into the precinct mainframe had raised a flag. Neo clicked the window open and his eyes widened. Harry Dursley had been found, apparently in good condition though he still hadn't undergone medical examination, but the word GUNDAM had bee mentioned.

This was big, all right, bigger than he had imagined. Walburga Black's interest he could understand, what with her unfortunate obsession with Blood, but what did the colonist fighters see in a middle class high school boy from a London suburb? This was a mystery and if there was anything Neo _honestly_ liked in life it was a good mystery.

* * *

Harry was walking towards a stretch of the road he could see behind an empty field, talking to the phone. The ground was wet and his shoes let it all through. He was trying to come up with a good way to cross the wide ditch without getting wet up to his knees. The water-like mush at the bottom was dirty brown and vaguely greenish and it didn't just smell, it spread thick stench all around.

"I was given enough food. It wasn't very good-tasting food, I think it was some kind of field rations. Crisp water crackers and instant soup with some kind of pasta and other canned stuff. But at least I had enough." He had finally given up trying to find a good place to cross and back down several paces. Now he ran and jumped as far as he could. He dropped on his knees near the edge, but stayed mostly dry.

"What was that? Nothing happened to you, right, Harry?" dad Vernon asked with his booming voice. Harry had this picture in his mind where he was gripping the phone so hard it would break.

"I just jumped over a ditch. I got to the road now." The phone beeped in a way that Harry knew to tell the battery was running low. Oh dear Merlin, wouldn't that be funny? His family was going to flip if they lost contact with him now.

"Tell him I'm gonna kill Qays Whoever!" Dudley's voice sounded dimly over the phone.

"Tell Dudley I heard," Harry said. He was looking around for some kind of identifying sign. Cars drove past him, red and chrome blue and black as the night. No one stopped for him, though he wouldn't have climbed into a stranger's car now even if one had.

"Can't you tell where exactly you are?" It was mum Petunia's voice now. Of course, dad Vernon would be driving since Petunia didn't have a license.

He finally managed to ascertain the number of the road, but it was then that the battery decided to give spirit and he was left alone, waiting. The waiting had been long and cold and boring. Mum Petunia and dad Vernon had forbidden Harry from calling the police in Brighton because they would get their child to home and then the police could come there to ask questions, but Harry was _most emphatically not_ spending his first day in freedom away from his loving family, in some bullpen with disrespectful police officers asking him insulting questions, _thank you very much_. Harry was coming home. And so Harry had time to think.

It would take an hour and half to drive from their suburb to Brighton, maybe an hour if dad Vernon ignored the speed limits. Harry didn't particularly want time to think. His thoughts tended to be pretty depressing lately when he was left alone with them for too long, but it wasn't like there was much to do. There was a small bird that looked kind of like robin except for its bright blue throat that hopped by him shortly after the phone call, but after that the most interesting thing there was to do was to watch cars.

Harry counted seven red Mercedez Benzes, one black and one yellow one, three chrome-coloured and two red Adawolfas, three blue and two red and a white Phinettas, an incredibly ugly neon green van he didn't recognize and two green Land Rovers before he got tired of counting.

So, he was going home to mum Petunia and dad Vernon and Dudley and his friends… but was it truly his home? Hogwarts had been his home, but it wasn't, was it? Not really since it was a school. He wanted to return to Ron and even Hermione, he wanted Hedwig back, he wanted to speak with Hagrid and help him with his outrageous magical pets and help his Sirius – that Sirius. But what about this Sirius here, and his family and friends? And Luna, who was here and had no intention of going back at all since her family was here? Harry felt like he was being torn in half.

He waffled back and forth, he toyed with the thought of somehow creating a new paradox, though he wasn't too sure how he would accomplish it and how would it even help him since he hadn't been born in the Potter universe. Maybe if he somehow managed to take the body along? But then a lot of people here would lose their Harry and remember loosing him… Not good.

Harry was bored and cold and stuck and missing his new friends. He was very, very happy when after a little more than hour a familiar red Adawolfa drove towards him. He waved with big, wide motions and the car skidded to a halt next to him. The driver's side was on his side and the door was slammed open when uncle… dad Vernon tried to jump out, forgetting that he was wearing seat belt and being pulled back against the seat.

There was a flinch when uncle and dad overlapped just for a second, but Vernon didn't see, fighting with the belt. A chuckle escaped Harry and he stepped closed as Vernon fumbled with it, trying to open it with suddenly clumsy fingers, and the moment was easily forgotten.

"Harry!" mum Petunia shouted and ran around the car to grab him into a hug that lifted his feet off the ground. Dudley scrambled out of the car too and dad Vernon got himself untangled. After that it was a long group hug. Harry wasn't cold anymore, with some many bodies pressed so tightly against him. The same questions were asked again and again, so quickly he couldn't answer a single one before another came, without a quiet moment for him to get a word in.

"I'm all right, I'm not hurt," he repeated again and again, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. To think he could have had this all along if his Dursleys hadn't been so stupid about magic, so afraid.

Harry called Ibie from the car. Her joyful scream tore at his eardrums, but it was happy pain. Mum Petunia called the police when they finally reached the home and at that point there was an entourage already eagerly waiting, Ibie and Lai in their uniforms, silly orange and maroon that hadn't looked so good ever before, complete with white parasols. Lai was standing next to them in casual clothes and Mike was by her side, grinning so widely Harry thought his face might be split in half.

"I can't believe it, you are back and you are all right! Were you really taken by a _Gundam pilot_?" Mike babbled the second Harry opened the door and Lai struck her elbow between his ribs, making him yelp.

"Ignore the ignoble fanboy, are you all right?" she asked and moved to touch his face. Ibie shifted from one leg to another and her face was reddish. Harry thought that it might be some time before anyone could mention any colony sympathies around this group and not get their head dutifully chewed off, regardless of their political opinions.

"I'm fine. I wasn't treated badly, they just wouldn't let me go before. It was still frightening, though, but at least it's over now," Harry told them with a soothing voice. Like that had been a permission new group hug commenced.

Some how they all got inside the house that looked even more obsessively clean now; Harry remembered that mum Petunia always started cleaning when she was nervous. When she had worried about her childhood friend's difficult pregnancy a few years back she had vacuumed the entire house, cleaned the windows, washed the steps to the attic, polished every wooden surface in the house, bought three new cleaners for the toilet and had the sofa and every arm chair in the house re-upholstered. Now the carpets looked washed, the floor was shining so brightly Harry would have eaten off of it and the sofa showed yet new upholstery, one with golden and bronze tree branch pattern. Mum Petunia was in the kitchen making waffles with maple syrup to "make up for the horrible food" and dad Vernon shouted something about space scum and Gundams into the phone.

It felt so good Harry felt guilty. But when had someone last been this happy that he was just a living and breathing body? Never, that was when!

Of course the perfection of it couldn't last. First came the police, two big, black men in uniforms and a bit later one with long hair and funny-looking big shirt with red and green swatches; he wouldn't have guessed him to be a police at all if he hadn't introduced himself as a detective. That was when the lying turned into serious business, and Harry had lied already. Lied and lied until his tongue should have turned blue and fallen off, but now he was lying to the authorities, the people who would pick apart his every word to find the culprit. Next came the soldiers, two men and two women in green uniforms with golden epaulettes.

But the door bell rang once more. Harry was just telling Lieutenant Eins Nougat, a red-haired and freckled man with a friendly smile and eyes (eyes were important), his story and had gotten to the part about the jungle camp when two more soldiers entered the living room, harried-looking Petunia trailing after them. These were wearing red uniform with a lot more pins and stripes on them, and Harry could have sworn that Detective Camander looked smug when he looked at them where the soldiers stood in attention and the other police frowned.

With the breathless certainty of an oracle he knew that this was where the other shoe dropped.

* * *

The End

Of

**Magic During Wartime**

Will Be Continued In

**Black Magic**

* * *

Walburga Black has Harry now, but never fear: Final Nargle Invoker Luna is mounting a rescue! Doctor J has sent a sceptical Heero Yuy to rescue half of the world's known magical population, Duke Dermail is exploring the possibility of arranging a betrothal between the heirs of the families and Treize Kushrenada wants to interrogate Harry. Harry just wants the hell out of the Dodge, now!

And in Africa the war is heating up…

* * *

AN: The first part of the series is finally done! I wish to thank all the reviewers who have given me encouragement.

Logic bomb was originally S. M. Stirling's invention (in Honor Harrington verse). I borrowed it because the idea was so great.


	12. Sequel

**Black Magic**

* * *

Important announcement! The first chapter of the sequel to Magic During Wartime is up now.


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